When Tomorrow Comes
by knirbenrots
Summary: Life was good – but it takes a turn to the worse. No matter how careful they are, his girlfriend is the victim of an assassination attempt. A sequel to 'Turn Back Time' and 'Forget Today' [Callen OC]
1. Chapter 1

**When tomorrow comes**

Disclaimer: the characters of NCIS Los Angeles belong to CBS and Shane Brennan. The only thing that's all mine is the idea for this storyline.

A/N Life was good – but it takes a turn to the worse. No matter how careful they are, his girlfriend is the victim of an assassination attempt. A sequel to 'Turn Back Time' and 'Forget Today'

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 **When tomorrow comes**

 **Chapter 1**

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Santa Monica Pier || April 2015**

Together, they ate French fries and a burger on the pier.

They took some time to watch one of the famous Californian sunsets as well – a mother and a son. Like there were so many outside - parents with kids, excited voices and running feet.  
It made her feel grateful for what she now had: a great 11 year old son, the spitting image of his father. Another small smile appeared on her face now she thought of the man she was madly in love with. Their future would be ever so full of surprises and adventure.  
Different from how she expected it to be, the adventure far from the life she was used to.

She sighed, put her hand on the boy's back and suggested they ought to get back to the place they called home.  
"Remember, we still got the second part of 'Pirates of the Caribbean' to watch," she said, knowing the boy would be eager to return as well.

"Maybe Mr. F has finally returned," the boy told when the two of them walked to her car, a nearly orange Ford Focus. A color which was far too striking, she heard, yet she loved it.

"He'll be around, I guess," she answered. "Finley always is around. He needs some time off too, don't you agree? We all do. Even you. That's why school allowed your Spring Break, which ends the day after tomorrow."

The boy pouted. "You don't have to tell me. Wished Mr. G would be around before that. He promised me to go fishing."

She looked down, after all the boy was still smaller, and let her left hand go through his ever tangled beach blond hair. "There's enough time for that, and you know it."

Then, she opened the doors and they both got in the car. Meanwhile, she wondered about the miracle that happened months ago, when she got the chance to grow closer to the man she thought she'd never find or meet again. The boy's father. He'd be around soon, told her that his mission wouldn't last another week.  
What bothered her, though slightly, was indeed the fact that Ike Finley simply left without leaving any message. During the past few years Ike Finley had been around for the boy and for her. A reliable captain if necessary, a housekeeper as well but most of all a friend.  
But then, she realized, the man knew how much he was loved and needed. He needed his pleasure time just as much as anyone else.

She then put the car in drive and took the turn to Neilson Way.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Naval Air Station || Point Mugu**

The Chinook helicopter landed right after dinnertime.  
It had been their first mission with the New Orleans team and finally, after one and a half week, the joint case was finally closed. It had been gruesome when the team had not been able to prevent the main suspect. The man died right in front of their eyes - killed by at least six young and hungry alligators on a crocodile farm.

"Glad we have the weekend to look forward to," Kensi sighed. "You got any plans?" She asked her co-workers.

"None. By now I think I could sleep forever," Sam said. He yawned as he spotted Callen's dark grey Mercedes, longing to lean back in the deep seats of it.

"Could do with some food beforehand. How about a quick stopover at let's say Neptunes Net?" Callen knew they served some healthy salads in there as well, a reason why Sam might want to join in the end. "Besides, we might put it on the field work's account," he tried.

A broad smile appeared on his best friend's face. "Remember, the little Ninja has ears and eyes everywhere. No way, buddy, that I'll try to ask the bookkeeper to add that to our bill." He chuckled, then added "But you're right. It was ages ago we had a proper meal, and it'll take another 16 hours or so before Michelle surprises me with one of her pies."

"If my lovely lady refuses to join, the backseat of your car will be mine," Deeks agreed.

He rolled his eyes and grinned. "Great, the youngsters decide to join us too. Let's go together. But like I said – just a quick stopover."

Sam looked at his partner "You wanna get back to your little expanding family too, right?" Although Callen only responded with a short nod, Sam did notice the way his eyes changed just slightly. Relaxed. Softer than he'd ever seen.

Life finally was good for G. Callen.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey || April 2015**

She unbuckled and got out, then closed the door of the car. She then waited till the boy had left the car as well, and used the car keycard to close all the doors with one 'bleeb'.

The boy gamboled next to her. "Remember we were at 85 minutes. That's with Captain Jack on the Flying Dutchman. Do you know what will happen now? Do you know if captain Mr. F will be there to watch with us?" he rattled.

"No I don't," she responded with a smile, "and yes, Jack Sparrow knows what he does, and—"

She stood next to the boy on the small gangway to her yacht when she noticed the hardly noticeable grey cord. Her mind stopped for a second, then started racing. Her voice was low as she ordered the boy to stand still. "George. Not a single movement until I tell you, okay?"

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 _Thanks for reading! A review is very welcome, of course, as ever :-)_


	2. Chapter 2

**When tomorrow comes**

 **Chapter 2**

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Thank you for leaving your reviews in here, Wotumba, BH72, Linda Wigington, Justine, Hoosier65, Skippy, EvaMcBain2009, BlackBear53, 974lk and ilse23

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey || early evening**

There was no way she could check, not from where she was standing right now. A booby trap with a wire, a scale or something which would be activated from a distance? Was someone watching them?

Rebecca licked her now dry lips. Her brain seemed to work so slowly. Should she take her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans? No. She decided it was a bad idea. Who could she call? Who was it that found her?

She looked at where she came from, quickly assessed her - their - chances.  
Again, she swallowed, making a probably dangerous decision. "George, please listen. Just listen first and act later, when I tell you to, okay?" The boy's eyes were wide, impressed by the sound of her voice and perhaps also by her behavior. However, he did what she asked him.  
She tried to keep her voice steady while deep down she was worried more than she showed. Never before had her son been involved in anything work-related. Yes, he knew her work got her into nasty cases and it got her hospitalized lately. But so far, George never was confronted with any dangerous situations himself. Hence the task Finley had handled so carefully until now.

Rebecca lifted the boy's chin with her left hand so that he would look her in the eyes and understood her worry. "What I want you to do is to grab my arms and hold on as tight as you can. And when I say 'Jump' we'll jump, okay?"  
She saw he understood and continued. "We'll jump onto the yacht next to the Rebel," and she motioned her head to the smaller blue sailing boat that lie on the other side of the gangway. She then breathed in, stretched her arms and felt the tight grip of the boy's hands. She sent him a short but encouraging nod and spoke the word.

Then they jumped.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Neptunes Net || Malibu, Pacific Coast Highway**

He was the one who lead and opened the door. "I smell the smelly smell of something that smells... smelly!" Deeks exclaimed as he stood and inhaled deeply, right before he entered the restaurant.  
"What?!" He looked innocent at his coworkers who stared at him like only they could. Then Deeks stated "It's one of my favorite quotes. Mr. Krabs, 1999. Just saying."

"Ah well… I admit it does smell good in here," Kensi said. "And you know what, in a way I expect Sponge Bob to be in the kitchen. It's that Neptune thing which made me smile when that series was on TV."

Sam chuckled. "It still is Kensi. In fact it drives me crazy to hear 'I'm ready! I'm ready! I'm ready!' on a Sunday morning when I want to be still asleep. Kids…"  
He glanced at his partner, who was quieter than Sam was used to. "Great choice, G. If things in here taste as good as they smell, you made me a happy camper."

Callen simply shrugged. "They serve great food. Visited the place before."  
Which, in his case, Sam knew it meant that Callen had been around, probably with his son. It was a place where lots of families were around, he noticed. The interior was decorated in a way one called 'retro'. Stylish settees near to the walls, black-and-white posters of fishing boats and beaches, and small tables with pub chairs in the middle of the room. The marine blue and white were highlighted by the soft blue of the lights.

The four of them chose one of the tables close to the windows. The views were stunning, and some of the posters appeared to be pictures made from the parking lot on the other side of the road, with its very scenic cliffs.

"They're quick in their ordering," Callen remarked. Another sign he'd been there before.

On a large blackboard, the extensive menu was written down. Deeks made a quick study and mumbled "Perfect choice. They even serve fried tofu. I remember Callen, how you once told Sam you love that."

Oh, he did notice the mimics and non-verbal information Sam was sending and which Deeks chose to ignored. "There it is, numero nino - the Crusty Crabs. Easy choice. Or… look at this guys. Crime scene! Definitely! Wild Mushroom Risotto Fritters with vegan pimento cheese To D-I-E for." He got up and let his right hand go to the small of his back, as if he was grabbing his gun.

"Deeks!" Kensi hissed. "Sit down and behave."

"There's a junior menu too. Maybe we should help you a little," Callen said, quickly lifting an eyebrow. Apart from this, his expression was dead-panned. Still, he actually liked the way Deeks was able to made them all smile. As the agent in charge he had noticed and appreciated how the younger detective was as a real team player, one who made the team going, especially in difficult times.

As Callen had predicted, a host took their order and soon after, it was delivered on their table. The four of them finished their meals nearly as quick, meanwhile discussing the previous case in New Orleans.

"Ah… Now the only thing I look forward to is being rolled home by you, WonderWoman," Deeks said.

"I bet," Kensi answered. "Monty is probably waiting for you and needs a long walk." A single moan came from her partner, who then got on his feet and followed her.

"Yeah. Time to go home, G," Sam spoke. He knew all too well how Callen longed to be back with the ones he loved as well. Their family life was comparable nowadays and it suited the agent in charge better than Sam expected. Gone was the indecisive behavior Callen had shown over a year ago when he had dated Joelle.  
Rebecca Belgrave had a career similar to theirs, an agent as well, and she understood him and the work he did. She only recently had decided to quit her job and put family life on the first place.

Callen paid the bill, knowing he'd never submit it at the office. He simply enjoyed the short moments like this, when the four of them got a chance to be themselves without having to be functioning as agents as well.  
The two of them walked to the parking. He unlocked the doors and got behind the wheel, while Sam adjusted the passenger seat just slightly. "Yeah. My stomach needs resting, G. So, I'd prefer a slow drive home."

A quick smirk came his way. "Bet your stomach wasn't ready for all this unhealthy stuff. Bragging about healthy food, or how do you call it, raw food? No way, buddy. I know better now! But I won't tell Mich, okay?"

"There's no way I'll have you discussing anything with her tonight. You'd better hurry home yourself."  
The wisecrack left when Sam glanced at his partner. "How's she feeling?"

"Less bored than she thought she would be," Callen answered.

"Wasn't talking about that. I know and you know that Becca will be doing great at being a freelance crime reporter," Sam replied. He decided not to push his partner into something more, and let his gaze go over the gorgeous sunset as only south California seemed to have.

There was the smallest of sighs, and Sam knew Callen was about to tell him more. "She's okay. No more morning sickness and craving apples and chocolate." He grinned shortly and added "That's why we had a boys' night at the Neptune Net recently. Finley and me. You remember, that night George stayed at your place?"

"Uh-huh." Sam knew it was about the best he might get from his partner, who apparently was far away with his thoughts right now. "You know, if he wants he can come around more often, G. Kam likes him, kinda like a cousin, you know?"

Callen glanced at his partner, briefly, and responded "Great. I mean, Finley's always around, but for George it would be really okay too to have someone else. The way George and Becca changed places, schools, friends… It'd be good to have one more basis he, and we, can rely on. You sure Michelle is okay with that as well?"

"If your doubting that, why don't you come over and ask her yourself? After all, we're nearly at our place," Sam said. He knew all too well Callen wouldn't go and ask his wife. So many times, Sam had invited his partner himself, after being beaten up or when released from hospital but under the restriction that someone would look after him. Michelle loved to have him around, like she also would love to have George around as well.

Callen halted the car in front of Sam's place. "Nêh. I know she won't mind."

A broad smile appeared on the large former SEAL's face. "You're right. Now go and enjoy your days off."  
He then unbuckled and got out of the car and simply waved his hand to greet.

The next part of the route to Marina del Rey was a quieter one for Callen.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey || 09.26 PM**

Something was off.  
He sensed it the moment he parked his car on the crowded parking. The nagging feeling in his gut appeared even before he noticed the first LAPD car.

The blue and red rotating beacon lights made clear that several emergency services were around. And he knew it even without knowing it – they'd come for the place he wanted to go to.

His feet seemed to work completely independent from his brain.  
Like in many cases, Callen worked his way through the crowd until he nearly reached the yellow emergency tape. And then he knew that his bad feeling had been justified. Police. Fire brigade. EMT's. And the 'Rebel' was gone – completely destroyed.

And EMT's were working…  
Callen closed his eyes for a brief second, to regain his control and to try to keep his cool. He desperately needed to distance himself from—

"Dad!" George's voice sounded louder than all the other voices together and he recognized the small posture of his son who sat, together with a police officer, in one of the cars. Callen quickly lowered the tape and stepped over it, automatically reaching for his badge to show it to the officer who wanted to prevent him from coming closer.

"Special agent Callen, NCIS," he identified himself. "This is… my family." He kept his gaze on the officer's face, needing to know more.

There was only a small, encouraging nod towards the EMT's. Slowly, Callen breathed out, his arm protective on his son's shoulder. Callen kneeled and looked his son into the eyes. A large plaster was on his skull and there was dried blood in his hair as well. The torn shirt showed a bandage on his left upper arm, but apart from this, George seemed to be alright.

"Your mom?" he asked, biting his lower lip.

The officer scraped his throat, which made Callen look up. One of the EMT's addressed him then. "Sir? Your wife, your mom" – he nodded to George then – "will be alright. From what we saw, burning wounds and lots of cuts, some major ones. She's unconscious, however, and we're taking her to the nearest hospital, unless…"

"It's okay," he interrupted. "It's okay."  
With his arm not leaving his son's shoulder, he followed the EMT. Meanwhile, his mind was in a whirl. "What happened?" he asked, partly to himself, partly to his son and the police officer.

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 _Thank you for reading. As ever, your reviews are very welcome knirbenrots_


	3. Chapter 3

**When tomorrow comes**

 **Chapter 3**

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Disclaimer: the characters of NCIS Los Angeles belong to CBS. The only thing that's all mine is the idea for this storyline.

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marquesas Way, Marina del Rey || early evening**

He'd seen many victims of accidents or crime. Men and women, kids… People who were shot, stabbed by so many different weapons, car accidents... And explosions.  
Callen hád to know how Becca was doing. He also was aware of how nasty things might look and he wanted to protect his son from having to see his mother, even though he already knew how scary it must have been for the boy to be around when no-one else had been.

The police officer - V. Murray, according to the name tag on his uniform – understood his glance and addressed the boy. "Why don't you and I sit down for another while? Once the EMT's are ready, you can join your father and follow the ambulance."

Although, much like his parents, George usually wasn't the kind of boy who trusted strangers easily, he was docile right now. Which was logical under these circumstances, Callen reckoned.

Then, he was there.  
Paramedics were nearly done with their work on the spot, and carefully had put her on a gurney.  
From what he saw, there was blood, deep cuts caused by debris, lots of scrapes, burns. Like this officer said, Rebecca still was unconscious. Callen let out a deep breath. Yes, she'd be alright, so they said, and all he could do was trust in that. Because to him, it looked far from good. The paramedics had put on a neck collar and there were bandages, lots of them. There was a splint with her left arm – not good.  
He closed his eyes, then looked down where he noticed the mess of debris. Remains of what once had been her safe haven, the 'Rebel'.

Rebel had been Rebecca's codename, over 10 years ago when she had been the contact in Serbia, when he and Gibbs were around for a black op. A reliable and mentally strong agent - attractive to a young G. Callen at that time. And she still was.

"What happened?" He asked the police officer once again.

"Probably something with gas," Murray responded, understanding the other man's need to know. "We see that so many times, at least six time a year. People forget about it or become careless - you know about these things."

He shook his head. Not her. "No way." He simply knew. Not her, as she was careful with what she owned and what had been the best place to hide, even in plain public.

"Was it Finley, George? Was he around?" Callen suddenly realized the other man was nowhere to be seen. Lately, the large former police officer had found himself a place of his own to live, though he still was around when either Becca or he were out for work.

The boy looked up and shrugged. "Finley wasn't around today. Mom was disappointed by that. But dad... Mr. F takes care of the Rebel. He'd never be careless."  
It was George who then explained "Mom saw something, even before we could step on the Rebel. I don't know what. She—We had to escape it. We jumped and…" There were tears in the boy's eyes by now. "Will she be alright?"

Callen crouched down and softly took the boy's arms in his hands. "You know just like I do, that she always will be. With a little care, she'll be around soon."

He hoped his words were true.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey Hospital || early next morning**

Sooner than he expected, George had fallen asleep. Their boy slept on a make-shift bed in the large room the hospital had provided.  
From one of the two synthetic chairs next to the head-end of the hospital bed, Callen let his gaze go over the faces of those two people he know he had to protect by now. His family – a family life which was very new to him, but which felt so right.

Rebecca would be okay, the physicians had promised as well. Yet she'd been unconscious too long in his opinion. Ordered by the doctors, they'd given her a sedative which kept her in a deep sleep. He swallowed. Yes, physically she'd be alright. But whoever had been after her, had destroyed something so precious.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles || Saturday morning, 8.35 AM **

It rarely happened that the team was summoned to the office on an early Saturday morning. There had been a simple group call from the assistant director this time.

Sam came in first, expecting his partner to be in there already like most days.

The two juniors came in together, only minutes later. Deeks looked around. "No little ninja, no pied-piper or little red ridinghood around? That means it's Granger-Danger, girls and boys."

From the way Kensi glanced at him, Deeks knew she meant he should hush a little. After all, Granger still had his moods. The man himself appeared on the balcony and scraped his throat just slightly. "You may come up. Ops is waiting."

"Callen's not around yet," Kensi said to both men. "His go-bag is not in here and he'd drop it before he'd go up. You think he's with Granger already?" It wasn't like those two men were enemies – but they weren't like brothers either.

"Maybe he declined the call," Deeks thought. "It was a short night after all."

Sam simply shook his head. "Maybe he'll be around," he said, more or less trying to convince himself. With only some large steps, he took the stair upstairs, only to find Eric and Granger in there, both facing the three others joining them in Ops.  
'Not good', Sam knew.

Granger only shortly motioned to Eric - a sign the younger technical analyst could start explaining the case.

Without showing any emotion at all, Eric turned to the team, tapping on his hand held computer while speaking "This is a camera feed of 8.37 last night," he said.  
On the large screen all looked okay. With a gap of 5 minutes, the feed continued. This time, there was a small fire from farther away.

"This is the Marina, right?" Kensi asked, her face now full of concentration.

Eric nodded. "One of the tourist live feeds of the apartment block at the end of Marquesas Way. There are no other camera's closer. This was Basin B."

"What happened during those five minutes?" She now wanted to know. "What else can you tell us?"

Owen Granger sighed deeply, avoiding eye contact with the others as he turned to the screen as well. "One of the yachts in there exploded." He didn't have to say much more, as Sam took over.

"Damn. The Rebel. When did you know?" He narrowed his eyes. His usual open face now was grim as he addressed the assistant director.

The brown eyes of Owen Granger bored into the equally colored of the senior agent and he snubbed "Only minutes before I called you in this morning. LAPD had everything under control until they discovered the owner of the yacht was somehow connected to NCIS and they informed me."

It was Deeks who had the nerve to ask "Callen? Is he—are they alright?"

"C'mon. We weren't home by then." Sam responded.

"The boy is practically unharmed. Becca… She's going to be alright. I suggest, agent Hanna, that you visit her and try and find out what happened. And you, agent Blye and detective Deeks, I want you to go at the Marina and see what you can find out in there."  
Again, Granger let out a deep sigh.  
Years ago, he had been the one who saved the then young woman's life – codename Rebel - and although he lost track for some time, the two of them had met some times during the past few years. He worried more than he showed and he figured it was about the same feeling Henrietta Lange had for the agent in charge of her favorite team. Granger was grateful that Rebecca Belgrave finally lived a happier life, with Callen. It sounded like an agent's fairytale, but still, it was as if crime was attracted to her.

"Beale," Granger said. "Why don't you call in your co-worker? Maybe Jones and you can find out more about the why and who from here?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey Hospital || Saturday morning, 9.00 AM**

Their boy had joined one of the nurses who showed him where to get something to eat. It would be better for George, she'd said, when he wasn't around these few minutes. Callen had agreed, reluctantly though.

She slowly moved and awoke and Callen wasn't sure if he could handle this. "I love you," he whispered. He softly stroke her face, avoiding the places which would hurt her most. He then took her hand in his.

Callen bit his lower lips and there was the slight wiggle of his jaw, and Rebecca knew something bad had happened. It all came back and it hit her hard. In a rush she sat up. "George!?" Dazed and nauseous from this sudden action she slumped back in the soft pillows behind her.

"He's good, Rebel. Just some scratches," he said. He inhaled deep and slowly let the air escape through his nose. The message was hard, no matter how he'd tell her.

The look on her face changed and Callen realized he didn't have to tell. She felt. She knew. Her tears broke his heart and for a while, Callen didn't know what to say or do.

"We can have-" He didn't finish his sentence. It was exactly not what she wanted to hear. Not what he wanted to think of. "It was a little girl. Far too little."

It was her pain next to his. A pain he hadn't experienced before and one they both had to deal with. All he could think of right now was to hold her. Hug her, as long as he could.

Which was short, since a knock on the door disturbed this precious time the two of them spent.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. For those who want to know: there will be less Rebecca in the next part of the story, since it is Callen and the team we need to focus on. Please do leave your reviews, they're very welcome!_


	4. Chapter 4

**When Tomorrow Comes**

 **Chapter 4**

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A/N thank you for leaving so many kind reviews on the last chapter. I hope you like what you read right now! Kni®benrots

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey Hospital || Saturday morning, 9.15 AM**

The large former SEAL peeked through the small window of the private hospital room. He hesitated a moment, since from what he saw, he knew he was about to interrupt a very private and obviously painful scene.  
Sure, in so many cases he and Callen had dealt with similar situations. Not this time. This time, his partner was involved, since it was the woman Callen loved who was attacked.

Sam decided that a firm knock on the door would be the most appropriate thing to do. He then entered, sending the pair in there an apological smile.

"Sorry guys, sorry to interrupt," he said.

Callen looked away quickly, rubbed his face, glanced at Rebecca who sent him a near invisible nod. Then, he blocked her face just shortly and addressed his partner. "No need to excuse, buddy. I'm—" he sighed and bit his underlip before he continued. "I'm glad it's you who shows up."

It was more than just being there for the woman who was hurt - there was much more Sam read in Callen's eyes. It wasn't too difficult to understand which pain his friends both had faced, yet Sam decided he'd not be the one who would mention it. "It's been a long night I suppose."

Callen avoided eye contact and gave an answer Sam actually expected. "You need to know what happened. We get that."

A soft moan came from behind him. "Becca?"

Beads of sweat had appeared on her face and she was much paler than only minutes before.  
"Becca?!"

She didn't respond except for biting her lip, wincing with pain. Callen pushed the small alarm button which was attached to her bed. No matter how much he detested hospitals, the treatments doctors and nurses carried out and the medications they administered, he didn't hesitate now it was about her. She shouldn't be in pain, not like this. Not after all she had endured until now.  
She had closed her eyes and Callen realized she tried to hide as much of her physical pain and misery now Sam was around.

An older woman, a typical senior nurse who probably managed to mother any patient, entered the room. She quickly read the chard on the clipboard and said, after she shortly observed the woman  
"Cramps are torturing you, love? Let's see how we can face these."  
She gently touched Rebecca's forehead to check the temperature, peeked under the comforter and shook her head. The nurse, Sara L. Crawford, then kindly addressed Callen and Sam and said "I suggest you gentlemen will wait outside."

Callen got on his feet, about to follow Sam, like he should and like he was asked. He kissed her softly as he said "I'll be just around the corner, if you need me."

He left many words unspoken, like how much he needed her, wanted them both in that happy-go-lucky mood like they had experienced the last few weeks.

Still, the door closed behind him.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marquesas Way || Marina del Rey**

Kensi closed the door of the silver Cadillac. She peered at the place where some people stood and tucked her hands in the back pockets of her jeans like only she could. "Do you think Granger had any influence on the LAPD guys? I mean, look at those guys. They guard it as a crime scene," she wondered as she gazed over this part of the harbor area, where the yellow tape blocked a large part of the slip where once the Rebel had been docked.

The two of them walked that way.  
Deeks asked one of the LAPD officers who was in charge. The officer motioned at a tall man with an olive skin and dark hair, who just spoke with another uniformed man. They addressed the man and Deeks ID'd himself. "Detective Deeks, and this is my partner, agent Blye, NCIS."

The officer understood. "Andrew Tomasetti. Good to see you. This case is related to NCIS, so I've heard."

"That's right. What've you got?" Kensi wanted to know.

Tomasetti gestured to the three men who were dressed in white overalls and who were exploring the scene. "They're looking for any evidence right now."  
He took a small notebook from his pocket, looked at it and started briefing them. Some of the information wasn't new as Eric had told them before all that he knew.  
"The explosion took place at around 8.40 p.m. Witnesses reported a loud 'kaboom' and saw thick clouds of smoke coming from the dock. We've had two boats that blew up, although from what it looks like, it was the yacht of a—" he skipped some pages, "Rachel Beaumont, aged 33, from New Orleans, which was the first one that exploded. A smaller one immediately caught fire after that."

Kensi glanced at her partner. Both of them knew Rebecca had been precautious. Deeks raised his brows and asked "Does the press pick up this intel as well?"

Tomasetti shrugged. "Suppose so. It's like with all local accidents and crimes. HQ issues reports early mornings and once again at about 5.30 in the afternoon."

"Right. If you'll excuse me for a minute," Kensi said. She stepped away and took her phone. Once connected, she said "Eric? See what you can find about Rachel Beaumont, supposedly living in New Orleans."  
It was Granger's voice who responded to the short question. "Her alias. Which is okay, since in that way the boy is not related to Rebecca at all. I'll let Sam know they should keep it like that. We will see to it that LAPD and NOPD share their information."

"And whoever is behind this, might understand they may have made a mistake?"

"That's right, agent Blye. Miss Beaumont is never to be connected to Rebecca Belgrave. They might accidentally look like each other. Beale in here will share some grainy pictures if necessary. See what else you can find out and keep us informed." Granger simply disconnected the call and Kensi turned to the others.

Deeks summarized what he just heard. "There are some witnesses who may have seen something. Let's see what they can tell us."

Tomasetti added some last information. "Harbor workers insist the scene will be guarded until the wrecks can be removed. Another crew will clean up and remove the fuel which leaked from the boats, which may take another day or so."

"Thanks," Deeks said. "I guess it goes without saying that you and your co-workers won't spill any of this information to civilians. If anyone, uniformed or not, asks about the identity and whereabouts of the victim, just contact us." He handed Tomasetti a card and shook his hand.

"First person we could see is Marilyn O'Hara. She lives at the Esprit Gallery and walked her dog. She was the one who called in and the one who gave first aid to Rebecca. Or better, to Rachel, as she was known in here. Then there's Steven Watson, a handyman who provided some kind of maintenance in the harbor and who was around as well." Deeks told her.  
Was it the early Saturday morning or the fact they had hardly had any time off during the past few weeks that made him sound so focused?

A quarter of an hour later they shared a welcome cup of coffee with two complete strangers - witnesses.

"I just ran toward the boat. In fact, it was immediately engulfed in flames and smoke. All you could see was black clouds," Steven Watson told them. "The smoke was so thick it blocked out the sun. But then, it was gone just as quickly. And I noticed this older woman, Miss O'Hara in here, who crouched over somebody," said Watson. "When I came closer, I notice this woman she took care of and who was unconscious, lying on the ground".

"There was a child as well, I now remember." O'Hara said. "A boy. He screamed, but immediately calmed down when he noticed the woman was okay. I think he was hit by some of the debris. Strange though, how I forgot about him as I simply concentrated on the woman."

'Callen's boy, definitely,' Kensi figured. Apparently George had realized it was more than an ordinary accident, but he had managed to make himself unseen right after. She should ask Callen about him when they finished talking to these strangers.

"As I was saying, the emergency crews responded swiftly. And we've got those smaller fire extinguishers around, so I did what I had to do first – try and save whatever was possible. Which actually was nothing", Watson continued.

"Have you noticed anything suspicious around?" Kensi asked. "Like strangers hanging around, other handymen, you know?"

Watson narrowed his eyes and frowned. "There is this large, black man. Finley. Don't have a first name. He and I talked regularly."

"Finley," Deeks encouraged. "Ike Finley. What about him?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey Hospital || Los Angeles**

He sat, elbows leaning on his knees and his head bowed as his hands went through his short hair.

Sam knew his partner was struggling with his own feelings, his own grief. He also knew that Callen would have to be the one who started talking, not the other way around. And he was right.

"If we—I, I mean… I should've been around. Instead, we were out for dinner. It was my fault I wasn't." The words came out quietly.

Sam let his gaze go over his partner's face and realized what Callen was talking about. "No way, G! Seriously, you're feeling guilty?"

His head snapped up, his blue eyes cold as ice as the sound in Sam's voice wasn't what he expected. "Hell, yes!" Callen exclaimed. "Any reason why I shouldn't be?"

The look and the words – Sam understood that Callen appeared to be more defiant than he'd seen before. So he tried once again, softer now. "G… What if you hadn't suggested we all would have a proper meal? What if we had refused? What if we had returned earlier? You know… I think, I honestly do, it wouldn't have changed a thing."

More or less stubborn, his chin lifted even more, Callen responded "It would. We—maybe we wouldn't have left the yacht. Or we would have come back from a dinner with the three of us. And I—"

"And you would be the one to occupy another hospital room," Sam interrupted, matter-of-factly. "G, this never was your fault. Just don't blame yourself for…" he hesitated and did not want to enounce what he knew already. "Really G, this shit happened. It seems like the past hunts us all."

A wry smile appeared on his face. "Yeah. Like we would never succeed in our line of work if there weren't any baddies hunting us. Well let me tell you one thing, Sam. It is exactly why Becca quit her job. And I'm gonna hunt down the ones who are responsible for this."

"And I will be joining you, partner," Sam replied.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles || Saturday Morning**

Granger had entered the ops center, his hands in the pocket of the jeans he now wore. "Anything new, Beale?"

Eric turned his chair to where the voice came from. "Well… Nell will be around as soon as she can. She had a girls night out with—"

"Business, Beale. I'm not really interested in the things your partner does when she's not around."

"She's not my partner, Sir. She's… Well, my partner. In here. She is, I mean," Eric now stammered.

"As I said, just come to business, Beale. Do you have any new information you need to share with the agents in the field?" Granger asked.

"There's this," Eric said as he showed some lines he copied from a website and read aloud 'According to police, a 33 year old woman who was on the boat at the time of the explosion is expected to make a full recovery. She will be taken to her hometown as soon as medical circumstances allow this.' "I managed to change the pictures on this site and it was copied to other sites as well," he said with a little smile.  
Next to the text, a blurry photo appeared of a woman who looked like Rebecca and who was dressed in a postman's uniform. With it, the name Rachel Beaumont was used as well.

"Well done, Beale. Now we need files. Lists of cases, possible enemies. Miss Jones and you could work your way through it as fast as you can, right. I'll see to it you'll have clearance of as much information from the other agencies as well."  
Granger was about to leave for the desk he shared with Hetty every now and then, when Deeks and Kensi came in as well.

"Anything new, agent Blye?" Granger asked.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Your reviews are welcome, as ever!_


	5. Chapter 5

**When Tomorrow Comes**

 **Chapter 5**

* * *

Disclaimer: the characters of NCIS Los Angeles belong to CBS and Shane Brennan. The only thing that's all mine is the idea for this storyline.  
Kni®benrots

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey Hospital || Los Angeles**

Their conversation was interrupted by the soft buzz of Sam's phone. It was the sound that went with an incoming message and he knew it was work-related. Despite the fact that Sam never wanted to be distracted like he was, he was on the job. His eyes scanned the message on screen and got up.  
Automatically, he turned so the message and the answer he was about to formulate, could not be read by anyone else. It would never be an easy thing to share with, especially when it concerned Callen.

"Always thought you were the one who told me partners weren't supposed to keep anything from each other."

Sam heaved a deep sigh and looked his partner in the eye. "There's the suggestion George needs a place to stay for the next couple of days."

"As in George comes home with me. Whose suggestion was it, Granger?"

"Partly," Sam confirmed. "You really think it's wise—"

"Really!? Listen, Sam, what if it were Michelle who was in here, would you even think of finding another place for Kamran?" Callen knew his partner wasn't the one who came up with the idea, nor was he the one who defended it, but there was no way he could hide his annoyance.

"But—"

"There's no need to 'but', Mr. Hanna. And as for Mr. Callen in here – 'what if's' are just scenario's, they're not real life. Instead, there is Mrs. Hanna, who came up with the idea of having George around."  
Their tiny boss stood behind him, shaking her head as if she didn't understand what Callen was talking about. Hetty then sent him a rare but sincere smile and handed him a traveling bag with purple and pink flowers on it and shook her head once again as she noticed he just stood there, holding the bag awkwardly. "Clean clothes and toiletries for the lady and the boy."

"But—"

She put her hand on his strong forearm and despite the fact it was in public, Callen was touched by this simple gesture. "As I said, no need to 'but', my dear boy. From what I understand, miss Belgrave will be discharged soon. She needs some fresh things."

Again, Sam's phone buzzed and immediately after reading the incoming text, he shook his head. "No way," he mumbled. He then looked up and said "Granger's going too far with his ideas."

"You're right, Mr. Hanna. Those were my exact words when Owen suggested to arrange WITSEC for miss Belgrave," Hetty said. "Which is why I came around right now, and I'd say the three of you might stay in a safe house until this case is solved. How about that, Mr. Callen?"

A smirk appeared on the lead agent's face. "How about you all would stop meddling in our personal life?"  
The expression on his face changed quickly when a nurse came around the corner, accompanying the blond haired boy – his son. He then pulled George closer and said "Let's see how your mom is doing, 'kay?"

The large agent and the petite older woman stayed behind as Callen closed the door.

"You shouldn't do this to him, Hetty. The more you're pushing, the more he'll resist. And then he'll go lone wolf. Which is something I'd hate to see him do, right now." Sam said. "He'll do anything within his power to keep his family out of harm's way."

"Oh, Mr. Hanna. It's exactly what we wanted to do – to keep his family out of danger." She sighed deeply, turned to leave, then addressed Sam once again "Please have his back, Mr. Hanna. See to it he works with you."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

"So far, nothing we didn't know already," Kensi told the assistant director.

"Which is nearly nothing. Well… I know that Buster is the name of Marilyn O'Hara's hideous little Papillon dog who digests his food a bit too fast, which left some awful stains in the beige carpets of her apartment," Deeks twaddled.

Eric chuckled softly. "Need to know information."

Granger scraped his throat aloud, about to speak, but Kensi was first. "Eric, what about this Ike Finley?"

"What about Finley?" Granger asked instead.

"Don't know," Kensi said. "I thought he lived on that yacht as well, and the other witness referred to him. What do we know about him?"

Granger let his finger over the screen of his mobile phone and responded "He's been around since George was only 2 years old. He found a temporary place to live. Considers himself retired now agent Callen is around. Let's see…" He stopped explaining as he heard a voice on the other side.  
"Voice mail," he muttered. "Why don't the two of you check his address?"

"Sure thing Sir. Checking, Sir." Deeks said. He sat down next to Eric and started typing. A loud sigh came from behind him, as Granger shook his head and said "6462, Marbrisa Avenue."

Anything to avoid any more stupid discussions from her partner, Kensi said. "Oh, just shut up and let's go."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Sam drove his Challenger on the Pacific Avenue. Both men had paused a while, then Sam said "A cable. What do you think he saw?"

His thoughts weren't where Sam was. "Huh?"

He glanced at his partner, then Sam repeated "George mentioned he thought he saw a cable. Wanna know your thoughts about it."  
He concentrated on the traffic again and took a turn to Washington Boulevard.

"It's clear to me. Not a cable, I think the whole thing was wired to be blown away. Becca probably noticed too. I mean, George said she told him not to move."

"Hmmh. Kensi and Deeks were around, talked with witnesses. Apparently nobody noticed anything suspicious."

Callen leaned forward and opened the glove-compartment, took a tootsie-pop and offered another one to Sam, who refused. While unwrapping, Callen said "Which means it was done by someone everybody knew. Or in a way which appeared to be very logical. Think of any company who'd be able to work in plain sight, and no-one would notice."

"A handyman?"

He shrugged. "Mention the name of the owner of the yacht, tell nosey people you got the permission to replace the heating system for instance and you've got what you want to."

"You don't think Finley—", Sam tried. It caused a glare which made him realize it was foolish to even consider mentioning.

"Listen Sam. All I want to have a look at is… well, if there are any personal belongings that were saved.

Sam halted and parked the car at the large parking. They got out and walked the last few yards.  
While Callen only got eyes for the exact spot where 'the Rebel' had been and the tape which still alarmed visitors not to visit this scene, Sam let his gaze go over the neighborhood. It could have been like Callen mentioned. People strolled over piers and were relaxed. Some were sanding the wooden parts of a boat, others played music and watched people come and go, drinking, having fun. One could be around for months, barely noticed, hiding in plain daylight.  
Like Rebecca had done. Something had changed, and Sam couldn't lay his finger on it. From what he understood, she had been very suspicious and had changed slips, harbors, names, situations. Until now.

Callen shook his head. The mess which was left after what must have been a deliberate explosion was enormous, even more now he really let his eyes go over it. He addressed an officer who still was on guard. "What happened with the items which were saved after the explosion?" he asked.

The man pointed with his thumb backwards. "We put as much as possible in a large crate and stalled it in the small warehouse room of EastWestElectronics."

"With what purpose?" Sam wanted to know.

The man shrugged his left shoulder "Just in case the owner wants to go through them. It aint much, just, well, you know, a cuddly toy, some candles, magazines, a framed picture. Small things, you know?"

"And we can have a look at them?" Callen asked, showing his identification.

"Yeah. Sure, why not. As long—"

"I'm about to hand the items to the owner," Callen interrupted.

A huffing laugh sounded. "You're not to touch those. They're evidence, they're—"

"Have your superior call Owen Granger, NCIS," Sam interrupted. "He'll tell you it's okay." He then turned and followed Callen.  
"You're good?" he wanted to know.

"Define good."

It said enough. And true, Sam figured, the place was a mess in a way that would've made him mad as hell if it was his place. Right now, there was nothing he and his partner could do or find out.

The two of them entered the Electronic shop and ID'd themselves once again. "We were sent in here by the LAPD officer in there," Sam explained, nodding his head to the direction they'd come from.

The young woman behind the counter smiled politely at them. "You can come along," she said. She pushed a small button behind the counter which opened the door to the spare room behind the shop. The lights in the room automatically went on. "That's what you're looking for," she showed them.

"Thanks," Sam responded.

The crate looked way too large for its contents. For an instance, Callen hesitated. Then he slowly took the lid off and took the items which were in it, out, one by one. Each item was carefully put in a plastic bag. He recognized some things. "George's donkey," he said and held up a cuddly grey donkey, dressed in a bright red-and-white shirt.  
He shook his head. "Look at this one." He took a bagged photo-frame, which had a nearly untouched picture in it. "Belgrade," he mentioned. "Shit, Sam. If this is all that is left of… of a lifetime of personal items, how can I explain this to her?"

"I really don't know, G. I mean…," Sam shook his head.

"I'm not gonna wait till Granger gives a green light, you know."

It was a mix of determination with a deep sadness on his face Sam couldn't remember to have seen before and he simply sent a short nod back, a sign of understanding.

"I'll have the toy, hand it to George when I come back home."  
It had taken some persuasion, but in the end Callen had agreed that George would stay at the Hanna family until Rebecca would be released from the hospital.

"If you could drop me at the hospital?"

During the ride back at the hospital both men were quiet. "You're staying in there?" Sam finally asked.

"Guess so. Maybe we… well, I should be there for her."  
He looked away from his partner, stared outside without really noticing what went around him. Although Callen was eager to find out more about this case, his first concern was to be with her, to see how she was doing. It had scared him to see her deteriorate so quickly that morning. Sure, the nurse had explained that a sudden early birth like she had, hurt like any other birth. With the other injuries she suffered from, a fever was the way her body was responding to all of it. Medication and a sedation were to keep her asleep or slumber.

And he wanted to be there when she really woke up.

At about a mile from the hospital, his phone chirped twice before he could take it. "Callen," he introduced himself. He listened to the other speaker and Sam noticed how the expression on his face changed suddenly to grim and alert. His gaze went over the people on the sideways, he hummed several times, responded "will do so," and disconnected.

"There," Callen yelled. "The guy in the pale blue shirt, dark trousers. Get us as close as possible."

Sam accelerated a bit and drove the Challenger as close as he could without getting suspicious.  
In a matter of seconds, Callen had left the car and swiftly started following. The man he had identified was small but muscular, with curly brown hair, and he walked fast. The running feet behind him probably were obvious. He looked around, pale blue eyes behind the glasses he wore. Once the man noticed Callen was close behind him, he started running.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. As ever, your thoughts, remarks, and so on, are very welcome!_


	6. Chapter 6

**When Tomorrow Comes**

 **Chapter 6**

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Mindanao Way || Los Angeles**

It was Sam who eventually caught up with the running man and slammed him against the wall of one of the buildings. With that same action, the other man dropped a small piece of paper, carefully folded.

Callen picked it up, unfolded and read it.

"Where did you get this from?" Callen snapped as he held the small note in front of the man. "And who wrote it?"

The man shook his head and mumbled something he didn't understand at first. "Das ist nicht von mir."

Sam pinned the man even closer to the wall and even though the much smaller man appeared to have trouble breathing, he was kept in that position. "What did he say?" Sam asked.

"It's not his," Callen translated. His gaze never left the expression of the other man as he asked "Von wem hast du es bekommen?"

A short cough from the person he held, made Sam loosen his grip. A mistake - and one which nearly proved to be lethal. In a matter of seconds the much smaller man held a small knife in his left hand and stabbed it backwards. It was all in Sam's training to avoid getting hurt. He stumbled back, which made the man escape from his strong hold with this action, and he started running again.

"You're alright?" Callen shouted while he started sprinting.

The answer came as a grunt. "Yeah. Just hurry."

Was it inevitable or on purpose?

Callen didn't know, but he saw it coming and yelled "Stop!" It meant the same in nearly every language, and yet the man wasn't listening.  
There was the sound of somebody hitting the brakes and the disgusting sound of a car smashing into the a body of a living being. Within the same short moment, the man's body slid back on the black tarmac and there was the sound of more cars braking.

All was quiet for some seconds only. Then there were screams and people shouting.

"Geez." Sam now already stood next to his partner. "What the hell…"

No way the man had survived. There was a trickle of blood near his ear and the way his body was angled… Callen shook his head. "It's as if he chose to do it this way."  
He took his phone, sighed deeply and stepped a bit closer to take some pictures of the face. "You think we should check if he carries any ID?"

Sam already kneeled down, checked for a heartbeat, shook his head and then swiftly let his hand go over the jacket of the man and shook his head once again.

Callen pressed Ops' number and waited until Eric would take the call.

"Eric? Sent you some pictures. See if you'll can identify this guy. German, or at least he spoke German.—Yeah, he did. He died. John Brennan of our new team was on guard in the hospital and heard the guy ask about the woman on the yacht. Brennan got suspicious, was about to ask the guy but before he could, he was off on the run. Brennan called in, came up with a good description.—No. We're waiting for LAPD."  
He disconnected the call and knew Sam had listened as well.

"What was it he had on him?"

Callen took the wad of paper, unfolded it and showed it, the rage still clouded his eyes. "This."  
It was a picture of the Rebel, one on which was written 'Rebecca'. Nothing more. But it was enough. This man had been involved, no matter what.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

"How about you concentrate on that dead man and I start going over those files?" Nell suggested.  
She had entered the office only minutes ago and was shortly briefed by Granger immediately after. Now Callen had called Eric, she felt that it was time to divide their tasks.

"It's easy for you. You checked about a year ago too, with that Miller-case," Eric reminded her.

"Easy for you as well," Nell retorted. "Those pictures Callen sent were clear enough. All you have to do is to run face-rec's on them, ours and those of Interpol since you already know the guy probably is German."

She glanced at her friend and added "From what I remember Rebecca worked in Europe for a while. Maybe I should start looking at that period."  
Nell remembered that Rebecca Belgrave had used aliases, perhaps even more than Callen ever had.

She took a piece of paper and started scribbling what she knew and what she wanted to combine and swiftly managed to program it for the computer. Then she started indexing what she already knew. Aliases like 'Belle Roberts', 'Rachel Beaumont'. She combined it with locations she knew, like Bosnia, Cuba, Bulgaria, Turkey, Aruba and Bogota. In another table, she put years.  
Then, she finally started reading.  
Until the bleep of Eric's system sounded and she simply had to look at the results with him.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marbrisa Avenue** **|| Los Angeles**

It was one of the many houses in the megacity of Los Angeles that looked about the same.  
Kensi parked the silver Chevrolet in front of the single-storey building. The small, attached shed had recently been painted and the stucco was still fresh and off-white.

She studied the street and the neighboring buildings. "Not bad for a retired… ehm. A retired man."

"A retired cop. A retired baby-sitter and now a retired captain. Nah. Not bad at all," Deeks agreed.  
They both got out of the car and walked the small path which led to the front door. He used the door knocker twice, waited less than a minute and peeked through the small window next to the door. "Like I said, not bad at all. For a single, retired man I mean. It's tidy. Maybe you could ask him how he does it?"  
He turned and smiled as sweet as he could at his partner, who sent him a so-called hazardous grin. 'Communicating' – this is how they did it.  
Kensi took a small set of lock-picks from the pocket of her khaki jeans jacket, held it up and raised her brows.

Deeks simply nodded and kept a watch over the street while Kensi quickly did what she had to do.  
Once inside, both of them took their guns, just to be prepared for whatever might come. Although Deeks had mentioned all was clean and tidy, it was strange to enter a kitchen where dirty plates and mugs were on the counter top.

"Looks like it's been here for about a day or two," Kensi remarked, as she put her gun back in the small holster at the back of her jeans.

"That's my girl. I knew you would recognize that," was all Deeks had to say, then added more seriously "No traces of Ike Finley."

Kensi shook her head. "No traces at all. And you're right, the place is awfully tidy. And it's odd." She let her gaze go around the room and the open kitchen. Automatically, she took a pair of rubber gloves from her pocket and put them on. She then went through the small pile of newspapers, magazines and other paperwork. "This is about the only personal matter around. Only one envelop with his name and address". She opened it. "Brochures of magical and mystical New Zealand."

"He's originally from New Zealand," Deeks confirmed. "You know, Fern, you're right - something's not right. I wondered what it is, and now I know. It's all that personal stuff, of which there's none as a matter of fact. No pictures. No postcards. No decorations. It looks like an empty shell. Worse than any hotel room. Exactly the contrary to your place which is cluttered. Cushions, pictures, magazines, pizza boxes, tissues, whatever."  
Deeks then re-opened the door to the bedroom. "We might find something—"

"We don't have to find something Deeks, we had to find someone. And we both concluded the owner of this place is not around." She looked outside, then took her phone.  
"Eric? We were wondering what you know about Finley's car." She listened and nodded as she did. "It's still here.—Yes. Will do."

Deeks understood. "So… Finley is not around. He left without doing the dishes and left without taking his car."  
He took the landline and scrolled through the list of numbers and muttered "nothing in here either. The man was very careful. Exactly like Callen's girl is. Wonder who taught who."

"We should check the car, and if nothing strange comes up, head back to the office," Kensi told.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey Hospital || Los Angeles**

It had taken over an hour until all paperwork was done with LAPD and to Callen, every minute was one too much. Finally he was able to visit Rebecca like he planned.

When he entered the room she opened her eyes.  
"Hey. Where've you been? Where's George?" There were so many questions he read in her eyes.

"He's with Kam." Callen knew she knew he'd be alright and Michelle was perfectly able to keep him safe.  
He bit the inside of his cheek. "How're you feeling?"

She tried to shrug, which hurt and there was no way hiding it. "Like being hit by a train."

Callen understood. She didn't have to explain the emotional pain. "A broken wrist, two fractured ribs. Burns on your left shoulder. Not talking about a slight concussion, cuts, bruises, abrasions and lacerations…"

"Anything you found out?"

"Maybe." He took his phone and handed it to her. "Recognize this guy?"

She frowned. "Don't think so. Why?"

"He spoke German," Callen related.

Rebecca took a closer look. "No. Doesn't ring any bells. It looks as if—"

"That's right," Callen said. "He died." He doubted for a second if he should share the information with her. "He checked at the ward in here, at the hospital, and had a paper with him. Written on it were 'Rebel' and your first name. The officer at the corridor didn't trust it, and the man ran. We… I tried to stop him."

"At least you got the one who did this," Rebecca said.

"At least you're still alive. And he isn't," Callen replied.

"At least I can go home soon."

He paused for a second and slowly shook his head. Callen sighed deeply and took his jacket off. Then he said "Got this," and put the photo frame on the nightstand next to her bed. "Oh, and Sam took Didgerdeedonkey back and will hand it to George."

She tried a weak smile, then looked away, biting her lower lip and trying to hide her misery. Callen understood, took her hand and lowered himself so he could hold her as good as he could.  
"There's nothing left, Becca. Nothing. Whoever did this, whoever this guy was, he destroyed so much. Past, present and future. If he hadn't killed himself, I really would have loved to interrogate him."  
These last sentences sounded grim, far from what she was used from him. Her tears that stung for so long now ran freely.

* * *

 _As ever, love to read your thoughts on what's going on! Thank you so much for reviewing so far!  
_ Kni®benrots


	7. Chapter 7

**When Tomorrow Comes**

 **Chapter 7**

* * *

Disclaimer: The original characters of this storyline are NCIS LA's and therefor belong to CBS and Shane Brennan. Personally, I am very glad they're around already and that we're allowed to 'use them' for fanfiction purposes only!

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

"We've got a winner on the dead guy!" Eric exclaimed.

Nell shook her head. "No way. All you've got is a name. There's nothing linked to it so far." She copied the name that popped up after Eric's search in the systems. "Bernhard Heinrich Degener."  
She smiled at her partner. He'd do anything to compete with her and he did this time. Both hit their keyboards.

"He's got a criminal record. From car theft to kidnapping. Nothing on his Modus Operandi that proves he's good with explosives."

"Lived in Argentina for the past 3 years," Nell said.

"Born in Braunschweig." It wasn't that easy to pronounce, but with his German ancestors Eric managed quite well.

"Thirty-one years old," Nell mentioned. "Which makes him younger than Rebecca."

Both of them were quiet for just a second. Nell tucked back some of her loose hair behind her ear and wondered "So far, my list of names, dates, places and more don't fit with this Degener being the one who's after Rebecca."

"Then how does he fit in?" Eric said. "What's your idea of linking him to all of this?"

Of course they never noticed that Hetty head entered their work space. The tiny woman had listened to the discussion of the young couple of analysts and softly applauded when she heard how they worked as a team.  
"Well done so far," she said. "Now, have you considered that perhaps this Mr. Degener did not work alone?"

They both nodded. "Sure. We were just about to find out how," Eric said.

"I'll inform Callen and Sam." Nell took the phone and dialed Sam's number.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey Hospital || Los Angeles**

The large former SEAL peeked through the small window of the private hospital room once again. It was like a déja vu to Sam, knowing he was about to intervene in another private discussion his partner had with his fiancée. He sighed deeply and knocked before he entered.

"Degener. The name of that man was Bernhard Degener." Sam let his glance to over the woman's face, curious if there might be any signs of recognition. He saw none.

"Doesn't ring a bell, does it?" Callen asked after he tiredly rubbed his face. He'd nearly fallen asleep when Sam had entered and he knew Rebecca had slept for a while.  
She simply shook her head. "Callen already said he spoke German. His name is German too, right?" She shook her head again. "I never worked in Germany or had contacts with the Bundesnachrichtendienst about any Germans. For whom did he work you said?"

Sam shrugged. "I suppose he wasn't an agent for any intelligence agency at all. Nell mentioned he lived in Argentina for a while."

Rebecca thought about that and said "I've worked in South America of course. Colombia. And in Cuba and at Aruba. But I can't see any connections with Argentina or Germany."

"Ah. Well, Nell and Eric are working on that," Sam replied. "I'd better head home again. Get some more rest, both of you."

"Sam?" Rebecca now asked. "George must be exhausted I think. Please… Tell him I miss him."

"Tell him we miss him," Callen mentioned. He gently smiled at her. "If you're free of any fever, the three of us will get back to my house tomorrow afternoon."

She was about to smile back at him when she suddenly realized "How about Finley?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

The frown on Granger's face welcomed Deeks and Kensi. Kensi simply shook her head, indicating she did not have any news she could share.

Deeks explained "He vanished."

"And you know how?" Granger asked.

"He didn't wash his dishes."

"It looks like the man hasn't been around for the last couple of days," Kensi added. "Besides, his car is still around. I called Eric who told me that this dark grey Toyota belongs to Finley. Still parked in front his house, across the street."

"Crap." Granger cursed. "See to it that Beale sends out a BOLO." He turned to the large desk and sat down, definitely not in a mood to discuss anything else.

Kensi hurried up the stairs to her younger co-workers, followed by her partner. Much to their surprise, Hetty had joined Eric and Nell. She had taken a chair and sat next to Nell, leafing through paper files. The younger woman did the same, but she read from two different screens.

"Anything you found out already?" Eric asked Deeks.

"Nope. Apart from the fact that Finley either detested to do the dishes, which, personally, I totally understand. Another possibility is that he never had the opportunity to wash the dishes since he wasn't around," Deeks replied. "Oh, and I think that Granger thinks the dishes were a bad karma. You, dude, you're about to be the one who sends out a BOLO to all other agencies in and around Los Angeles."

Hetty looked up from the papers she had on her lap. "As long as we don't know where Finley is, Miss Belgrave may be in trouble. I think I don't have to remind you all that her name and location were exposed."

"And you think Finley is responsible for that?" Nell asked, surprised by the thought.

Hetty pursed her lips, thinking about how she should verbalize her thoughts. "Well dear… in fact, I do, Miss Jones."

The hazel eyes of the young information analyst widened by these words. "But…"

"Never voluntarily, that is. I most certainly hope you, or any agency around, will be able to find this man as soon as possible. Because, in a way, he will be the one who can tell us more."

On that, she stood up, carefully put the file she was reading on top of some other paper files which she then put on one of the unoccupied desks at the Ops center.

* * *

 _To my dear readers: thank you all for your wonderful reviews! For your information: there will be a slight delay in publishing another chapter since the mountains and the oceans are waiting :-) Please, do enjoy this chapter_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 **When Tomorrow Comes**

* * *

 _A/N Thank you so much for your lovely reviews and of course for your patience. It's been a while… Holidays, you know how it goes_

Disclaimer: all the original characters belong to CBS and Shane Brennan. I just used them for this storyline. As for all the other names and characters - they're all made up and are never meant to resemble any persons - dead or alive. If you do recognize names, it is purely coincidental!

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey Hospital || Los Angeles**

He could do without sleep. In fact, Callen had always been a bad sleeper. He had suffered nightmares from his early youth. Only some years ago he found out that these dreams that hunted him were based on real life - being a witness of the assassination of his mother.

In the years that followed, Callen had taught himself to sleep wherever and whenever he could - aware that some of the foster parents or other kids might be after him.

Nowadays, his ability to run with little sleep sometimes came up easy. Although he admitted to himself that ever since Rebel came back in his life, they had spent more relaxed time than he could remember.

By now, he simply sat and watched her sleep - a sleep which hadn't come without a little help.

Rage went through his mind once again. Rage, because somebody caused all this. Like Sam said, the past hunted all of them. It never mattered that Rebecca had chosen a different career and a different lifestyle. Someone managed to find her. That same someone nearly killed her and their son. Being pregnant for 18 weeks, their unborn baby didn't have a chance to survive.

Whereas Rebecca so far had shed tears and suffered from several injuries, Callen still felt rage.  
And so far, he wondered what the best thing to do was. He felt torn - wanting to stay and protect his family and wanting to join his team to hunt down the one who did this.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

He fell asleep anyhow. Early next morning Callen woke up from the feeling he was being watched. His clear blue eyes, now red because of the lack of sleep, shut open.

She stared at him, a small smile around her wide mouth. It mirrored in her dark grey eyes.

"What?"

"You look so much younger when you sleep. George looks so much like you," she said.

He hummed. The spirit running through her face amazed him. "I'd been thinking the same," he said. "He's got your mouth, your freckles."

Rebecca gave him another smile, one with more strain behind it. "It's not the best time of our lifes. If—if there's something you can do with your team, I really wouldn't mind Geca. I'm not going anywhere. Not without you."

Callen sent her one of his famous half smiles - the ones she loved so much. "Take care then. And keep calm," he said.

She nodded. "Take care yourself."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Los Angeles Office of Special Operations || 7.34 AM**

The two of them had come in only minutes ago, and Nell had made some fresh coffee first.

"Wanna bet our little trolls found something that relates this guy to a case the victim has worked on?" Eric asked.

"Sure. But betting, Eric? Where's your faith in the systems." Nell retorted. She quickly scanned the office, poured half a cup with milk and added coffee to it. She then took another mug which she filled with pure, black coffee. She grinned at her partner and gestured to the staircase. "You think we should check?"

Eric looked nearly nervous. "Yes. But what if..."

She raised her brows and replied "what if's don't count." Then she went up the stairs, the mugs still in her hands.

He wasn't used to this naughty side of his female partner. "But Nell, you know the rules. No food, no drinks at Ops." He looked down, pretty sure Hetty would _KNOW_ , even if she wasn't around.

The doors slid open and Nell entered, looking backwards at her partner. She still smiled. "Don't tell and she doesn't have to know Eric."

"Really?".

She nearly dropped the mugs she carried. "Just don't..."  
Her eyes widened when she noticed how Callen had taken his coffee around as well. A brown paper bag proved that he'd eaten at Ops before too. And although the agent in charge looked freshly showered, he still looked tired too, Nell noticed.

"What are you doing in here?"

He raised a brow and smirked. "What does it look like?"

His red laptop stood on the corner desk. He had taken one of the vacant chairs and swiveled it - facing his co-workers before watching the information on the big screen.

"You do know how to use all this?" Nell asked.

Callen shrugged. "You thought I wouldn't?"

Nell reddened a bit, not knowing what to say. She should've known. Of all the agents in this team Callen was the one who with most experience for NCIS.  
He had not been around when the Los Angeles branch moved to this building. At that time he was recovering from a horrid shooting - so she was told. He was a senior operative long before and only after he was enlisted, the rest of the team was recruited. He worked with the previous systems, long before she had come to work with NCIS.

Nell put down the mugs with hot and fresh coffee. She walked to her own small desktop and pressed some buttons. "It's easier this way to see what intell comes up," she explained. The screen was now divided in four equal parts.

"What you got, Callen?" Eric asked. He grinned and said "It's always the other way around, that question I mean."

"May have a lead. Looks to me that this man Degener was on hire. What do you think?" Callen got up and enlarged one part of the screen. "Here," he showed, "Looks like your systems came up with his bank account."  
He leaned back against the large table with the interactive top in his usual stance - arms crossed in front of him, his left foot loosely bent in front of his right foot.

Eric emptied the last bit of coffee and slid behind his own desk. He started to work. With some juggling on his keyboard, numbers were eliminated whilst others were highlighted in blue. He nodded. "We're talking big numbers. Large sums of money."

"Can you find out where they originate from?" Callen urged. He got on his feet and took the garbage he left. Automatically he took the empty mugs from their desks and left the Ops.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

At 10.04 in the morning, the team had been reading files and made several phone calls. All in vain.  
Then, at 10.05 AM, a loud whistle sounded from the balcony. Eric stood, a broad smile on his face. "Troll news, lady and gentlemen."

Callen quickly rose and hurried up the stairs. The others followed, eager to work through the case as well.

"What do you have, Eric?" Callen asked.

"Like we saw before, this guy Degener received large sums of money."

"It wasn't easy to find out who wired it to his bank account. Neither from where it came. Cuba, Switzerland, Munich, the Caymans, Amsterdam..." Nell added.

Deeks grunted. "Something tells me Granger is not going to let us travel around the world to follow the money."

"It's not necessary," Eric said. "That's why I called you. Looks like Degener was last paid by a Russian, Toeplyev."

"Russian?" Sam remarked. He turned to Callen. "What's the connection?"

"You're asking me?" His blue eyes stared at the screen, wondering himself why a Russian guy and someone from Germany he'd never heard of wanted Rebecca dead.

"Is this Toeplyev guy still living in Russia?" Kensi asked.

"Good question," Nell said.

"Maybe you can find out. We gotta ask Rebecca what she knows," Sam said. He was about to turn, thinking he made the right decision.  
That's when Granger's voice sounded. "Not so fast. Let detective Deeks and agent Kensi ask Becca what she knows."

"Wait. That doesn't make sense at all," Callen said.

"That's your opinion, agent Callen," Granger clarified. "Ours - and by that I mean Hetty and director Vance agreed with me - is that you're far too involved. So, the two of you are about to assist Beale and Jones on here and see what you can find out about this man, Toeplyev." Granger carefully let his eye go over the lead agent's face. "And there's no arguing about it, you hear?"

All he got as an answer was a hard stare of Callen who then turned, opened the sliding doors and left Ops.

"Seriously... I thought we discussed this matter only a day ago," Sam said. He shook his head in unbelief and followed his friend.

"You sure about this Sir?" Kensi asked. "I mean..."

"It's complicated," Granger said. He felt responsible for Rebecca Belgrave's life in an awkward way and all he had observed so far was that Callen was too. What they both needed was to live a life they deserved - stable and safe.  
"Callen may think he's invincible. We all know he isn't," Granger explained. "But most important, he isn't objective. You on the other hand should be. Ask the right questions, well, you know how to play the game."

On that, the younger couple left as well. From the balcony, Owen Granger looked down at the senior agents. Sam appeared to be absorbed in files. Callen was making a phone call with one of the office lines, which meant it wasn't a private call. Granger concentrated on what he heard.  
Russian.  
He tried to overhear and finally concluded it must be Arkady Callen was talking to. Which was alright.

Half an hour later, Sam and Callen had joined Eric and Nell again.

"Vitorio Toeplyev, senior, lives in Moscow and probably spends his summer at a datsja near Podolsk," Callen told. "However, there are two sons. Evgeny Toeplyev was last seen in Afghanistan. And there's Grigori."

"Who currently is a resident of Chicago, we checked. It's a postal address only," Nell finished for him. "But he has a girlfriend. Modeling in the US. Guess where?"

Sam chuckled. "Where all the pretty girls go. Somewhere in one of the apartments in Hollywood. That's what Kolcheck was trying to find out. You beat him to it, right?"

"Old man Toeplyev transferred money to Toeplyev junior. It about equals the amount which was paid to Degener. Address of junior's mistress is on your phones," Eric said. "So are recent pictures of Grigori and Maria King, the girlfriend."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Clinton Street || Los Angeles**

"What' you think of these Russians?" Sam glanced at his partner who sat just as relaxed or just as uptight as during every other case.

Callen shrugged. "Don't know. Could be they're behind this all. I mean, do you know who might be after you? Been surprised about it all the time myself."

"True." Sam realized it went for himself as well. "And honestly, if you'd ask me about if I knew about Michelle's cases? I couldn't tell."

"Let Nell and Eric puzzle with files and cases from Becca's past, gather as much intel as possible. We should stick to the here and now," Callen said. Sure, he wanted to close the case as soon as possible, but he also needed himself and the team just as thorough as ever. And he did wonder if all of it was an easy puzzle in the end.

Sam slowed his car near the address they were given and finally eased the Challenger to a stop.

For a short minute, they observed the place. An apartment block, built in the mid-seventies when Hollywood worked like a magnet to young artists from all over the States and even further. Nowadays the place looked worn-out.

"Ready?" Sam asked. All Callen gave his partner as an answer was arching his brow. Then he was the first one to leave the car and cross the street.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Operations, Los Angeles || half an hour later**

"A simple phone call would have gotten us the same answers. Less miles on the tracker which would make the accountant happier. And less frustration of the lady if you'd ask me," Deeks muttered.  
As far as Rebecca could remember, the name Toeplyev did not ring any bells at all.

"If you'd ask me, she is impatient enough to get out of hospital and work her own case."

"C'mon Kenz. She quit. Besides, she never got a chance to join your agency. Which isn't mine - of course," Deeks smiled.

"Got that. But still... For someone whose home is gone-and who actually lost a baby, she's still sharp," Kensi mentioned.

"Sure. The woman's been cautious so far. Intelligent enough too. Trying to cope with what happened, but clueless so far." Deeks cocked his head slightly and added "Makes me wonder how she and Callen do this."

"Do what?" Kensi asked. She then put up her hand as if to stop him. "No wait. Don't tell. I don't want to know what you're thinking."

"You mean you never want to think about other people's relationships? Ever?" His baby blue eyes were practically innocent. He did that so many times.

Kensi sighed, about to explain what she did not want to hear, when one of the all too familiar whistles came from the balcony.

"On deck. Now." Eric's face was serious now. Both the junior agents hurried to the Ops.

"We've got a situation," Nell welcomed the others.

"I see," Deeks quipped. "Everyone else is missing. Right?"

It caused a glare of the younger information analyst. "In fact, it is about finding someone. In fact, more than one person. Sam called. He needs you guys to assist him at a crime scene."

"Him?" Kensi asked, alarmed by that word especially.

"Callen flew to the Marina del Rey hospital with a med copter." Eric explained. "Which leaves Sam-"

"Oh my god. Callen... Is he-" Kensi feared to finish her line, too scared to hear what she never wanted to hear.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know your thoughts..._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 **When Tomorrow Comes**

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Nell looked at her co-worker, suddenly in awe when she understood what Kensi heard. "No-no-no, it's not him."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 _Previously_

 **Clinton Street || Los Angeles**

Sam closed the doors of his car and followed his partner, who already took the first and only steps up. Callen knocked on the door. Waited. No sounds inside that someone was about to open up.  
Then Sam stood next to him. The only communication they had, after one more knock on the door, were the raised brows of Callen, followed by the faintest of nods of Sam.  
Callen took his set of lock-picks and soon opened the door.

"Federal agents!" he said aloud, simply to warn whoever might be around.  
He then gestured to Sam to both work their way through the apartment. Systematically, as ever.

The lay out was like many apartment buildings they went through in the past so many times. A small hallway. Living room where an eating bar divided the kitchen area. Two more doors, one leading to a bathroom and another to one or sometimes two bedrooms. Sam motioned to divide - each about to check some rooms.

"Clear," Callen's voice sounded from the living room.  
Sam expected another 'clear' to follow soon. Instead, the lead agent called 'In here!'

Sam hurried to where he heard Callen's voice. His partner squatted next to what had once been a beautiful young woman. Now she was dead - strangled by a plain, grey wire. The green eyes stared in the big nothing, slightly bulging out and her once beautiful face was blueish now.

"We'd better let Eric and Nell arrange the necessary assistance," Callen said, as he looked away and took his phone. He pressed the pre-dial button and Eric was connected within two buzzes. "Guess we found Maria King. If so, it's too late to ask her anything about her lover. You'd better send in the coroner."

A short yell from Sam made him disconnect. "Get back with you."

"G!" The repeated yell sounded alarming enough. It came from the small bathroom.

He hurried that way.  
There was the familiar shape of the man they'd been missing. The large, bold house friend of Rebecca Belgrave and her son's protector was tied up and miserably tortured. "He's alive, G. Alive. But barely."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 _now_

 **NCIS Office of Special Operations || Los Angeles**

"So, Callen left, joining Finley in the medicopter. They're flying straight to the Marina del Rey hospital, perhaps Rebecca can... Anyway, chances are low the man will survive. He's suffered a massive blood-loss according to Sam and he slid in an out of consciousness," Nell explained.

"Hetty and Granger left by car to the hospital," Eric added, "and there's a dead body at the same house. So—"

"We'll assist the big guy. Detect and make conclusions. Guess the little lady and the stoic nearly-but-not-real-boss will assist our superhuman team lead. Right, Kenselina?" Deeks chattered.

Kensi only nodded, hoping a short confession of Ike Finley would explain everything and the case would be closed.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Marina del Rey hospital || Los Angeles**

Granger had come to her room. His face wasn't less serious than usual. His message was, however.  
"We found Finley."  
His gaze went over the younger woman's face and he read the gratefulness, immediately followed by another emotion.

"He can't be here?" she asked.

Granger let out a deep sigh. "He's on his way." He shook his head, just slightly. And she knew. She read it in his eyes. "It looks bad, Becca."

From the first moment on she had realized Ike Finley was not around, it had been over two days ago. "How bad?"

Granger shrugged. "Callen's with him. They're coming this way. Maybe—well, Callen and I hope the two of them could share some words. Or maybe Finley and you..."

She bit her lower lip. "Maybe… From your words I understand it may just as well be not? That bad, is it?"

"Rebecca, listen. Chances are he is the one who let whoever did this, know where to find you. If so, we need Finley to tell us."

"He wouldn't..." Rebecca hesitated. "They made him talk. Right? And Ike was-"

Owen Granger interrupted. "He was left to bleed to death. Which he simply didn't. So far. But he was badly mutilated."

Tears welled up in her eyes but before both could speak, there was a knock on the door. The agent who was on guard entered the private hospital room. "Miss? Your presence is required in the emergency room. I've got you a wheelchair."

She got up on her feet. "Won't need that."

"Sure you don't want to?" Granger tried. She just gave him a look which made him feel miserable.  
Stubborn. Granger knew she was. Stubborn like the man she fancied. Stubborn, despite her recovery from what happened.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

She stood straight, showing no signs of any weakness. It was clear enough that the ever so strong, giant old friend wasn't going to make it. "Oh Ike... I'm so sorry."

It probably took him an enormous effort to open his eyes, but recognizing her voice he managed. "Bec...," he breathed.

"It's okay, Ike. I'm okay. We're okay."

"Ca—" the man tried. His voice appeared to be longer around than his mind and body were. There was another short "Ca—".  
Then only one more short breath. Then, there was nothing.

The scene had been too intimate to disturb. Callen had listened carefully though.

Now, he heard her muffled cry, her right arm in front of her mouth. He did one big step forward and he was with her. "Rebel...". He felt her shudder and saw how her face was white, ghostly pale now.

Callen put his arm around her waist in a way to support her. Then she slowly pressed to the wall and lowered herself to a seated position.  
Callen squatted next to her. Embraced her as she let out all the despair and pain. He held her until everyone else had left the room.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Henrietta Lange pursed her lips. She looked up to the man who was lost in his own thoughts. Granger had joined her immediately after Ike Finley had passed away.  
"You think she can handle this all?" Hetty asked.

Granger pondered Hetty's question. About a year ago he had received Rebecca Belgrave's application for the NCIS office in New Orleans. It was then when he first met Ike Finley and experienced how fond the young woman was of the older man, and the other way around. Granger had also met Rebecca's son and Rebecca had explained how she had hired the former police officer back in New Zealand and how the man had taken his task to protect the boy, very seriously. Her son, given name George.  
After little more than ten years, Rebecca Belgrave had been reunited with the father of the boy - simply because Owen Granger had observed, deducted and made the right conclusions.  
The past year had been one with ups and downs for the couple. But these past few days were beyond worse.

"She's tough. Resilient. I hope—" He corrected himself. "I expect she'll be able to deal with it."

The older woman nodded, understanding. "There was much to deal with indeed. From what I understood she is allowed to leave hospital later today. You realize, Owen, that if we want Mr. Callen in the game, we cannot let miss Belgrave stay at Callen's place alone with the boy. For the time being, she needs care herself, instead of only taking care of herself and young mister Callen. So I suggest you suggest the three of them to stay at my beach house. Maurice is around and he'll keep an eye on them."

A wry smile came her way. "You don't really think she's going to accept that, do you, Henrietta?"

A cunning smile was on her face now. "Oh, leave that to me, Owen."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The petite woman stood in front of him all of a sudden an ushered him to a waiting area nearby.  
"A word please, Mr. Callen."

There was no way avoiding the small office manager. He clenched his jaw, sighed and halted. "Becca needs me, Hetty."

Hetty nodded, slowly. "Yes, she does, Mr. Callen," she acknowledged. "And she needs being taken care of."

He breathed in deeply. Why on earth did this little lady always behave like she did? "Don't you plan on mothering her, Hetty. I read it in your eyes. Pity is the last thing Rebel needs to see. She deserves more than that."

His eyes clouded for a moment.  
Her small hand rested on his strong forearms and the way his clear blue eyes now gazed over her older and wise face, made her continue. "I understand, Mr. Callen. As I said, she needs you. Your family needs you, as soon as possible".  
Oh, she noticed how his fists clenched with the word 'family'.  
"However, she will also need you to go after the ones who did this to her, who did this to your family. So, she needs you to be in lead of your team. But you do realize that miss Belgrave also needs to be taken care of. And no, you cannot be in both places at the same time. And despite the fact that Owen Granger thinks you are too personally involved, I'd say that it is exactly that fact will make you sharper. We will need you to be in charge. That is why miss Belgrave just agreed to stay in my beach house in Venice, with your son. Safe".

Callen shrugged reluctantly, not too happy about it himself. Still, he nodded, in a daze. If only he had his own place furnished like any house should be to call it a home, then Hetty never would have suggested this. "I get it. If she agreed..."

Her head tilted with his words and she confirmed "Owen just let me know she agreed indeed. Maurice will take care of them."  
Ever since the tragic death of Duke, who was more or less a personal assistant of the office manager, Callen knew Hetty had assigned two butlers who both doubled as body guards – Maurice and Martin. Whether those were their first or family names he did not know.

"Don't…" He wondered how she'd take it. "Don't you ask this Maurice to be a second Ike Finley."

"Don't worry. He'll be discrete. Make himself scarce."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Venice Beach || three days later**

It was a great place where the three of them stayed right now. A small garden at the back of the pale blue painted, wooden house. There was no front garden. The living room and the master bedroom faced the water of the Venice canals. Between the water surface and the house however was a small pathway, enclosed by another bright white painted fence. Around the back, a deck with a painted white fence led to the well maintained, secluded garden with red roses and pink and blue hydrangeas.

Callen just came back from another unfruitful day at work. From the kitchen window he observed her for a short moment.

She sat in one of the two bright white bear chairs on the porch, a dark retriever near her chair. She rubbed behind the floppy ears of the dog, definitely lost in thoughts.  
Her dark brown, long hair was in a loose tail. One knee pulled up at chest level, the other solidly on the deck.  
She was wearing an old pair of jeans, perhaps one of his which she found somewhere. With it, a plain white button-down shirt. Definitely his. But the way she was wearing it was surprisingly feminine. It made her look fragile too. And although Callen also knew how strong and tough she was, he noticed she was far from that now. Both mentally as physically.

It still had not been easy to reach out for her. To share the pain they shared.  
Callen knew he'd never been good at communicating. Never been any good in letting other persons in his life either. For nearly a year now, things had changed. Most for the good. Until now.  
So many things Rebecca, his Rebel, had endured and survived so far. Any sane person would know she might slip into too many emotions. Most sane persons might have reached their snapping point already. Fact was Callen didn't know if or how he could prevent that from happening to her after all and the very thought made him feel literally sick.

He opened the fridge, studied the contents and decided Lambrusco would be the right drink for this moment. He filled two glasses with the cool, soft purple fizzy wine and took them outside, where he placed them on the small table between the chairs.  
Even before he sat down he felt her stare, expected her question and so Callen shook his head. "Nothing so far. Dead ends."

She was lost in thoughts for a few minutes, slowly sipping her drink. "Maybe I should be around?"

He looked at her, quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"One of the rules I never forgot was that whenever you act predictable, your enemies will find you sooner. So perhaps, well, I thought that since you still haven't found out who's behind this all, I could be exposing myself."

His eyes and voice were colder now. "And be the bait? No way."

"Done this before. And now I'd have your team as a back-up, Geca. Why not give it a try."

He let his gaze go over her face, over her physics and shook his head. "Look at you. Maurice did a great job, changing your looks."  
It was true, the man had carefully weaved in some longer hair into her pixy like, wavy hair. After that he changed the color to a dark brown. With the lack of sunshine and her body having to recover from what she gone through, she looked paler than ever. Instead of wearing colored lenses which she'd done a hundred times working undercover, Maurice made her wear a pair of glasses. The combination of those alterations made it hard to see through the cover.

"No, I don't want you to even think about it," Callen repeated. "The team can work on it. All I want you to do is to get better, get stronger."

She sighed deeply and the look on her face changed immediately. "What you're saying is that I should not be involved, while the case you work on is all about me. What you want is for me to stay locked-up in this place. Living a life which is not mine in a place which is not mine either."  
She put her glass down, got up and went inside, pretending she did not hear Callen asking her to listen to his explanation.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Operations, next morning || Los Angeles**

"Bad night, huh?" Sam greeted his partner. Having said that, he figured out it was a bad way to get Callen talking and, if possible, the worst way to start an ordinary day at the office.

Callen simply passed and walked straight to the low cabinet they used as a coffee corner. He took a mug and filled it with fresh, steaming black coffee. He put the pot back, took his mug, breathed out and headed to Hetty's desk.

"You told me she agreed to stay at your place. Any idea why Becca's complaining about it?" His piercing blue eyes never stopped gazing at her face.

The petite office manager adjusted her glasses, then sent him an inviting gesture. "Please have a seat, Mr. Callen."  
From his stance, she understood he'd refuse.  
"Oh bugger." Hetty looked up, nodded faintly. "We thought it was for the best, for all three of you."

"We?"

"Granger and I. We figured out—"

"Like we forgot how to think?" He snapped, interrupting her explanation.

She let her deep breath slowly escape and shook her head. "No, dear boy. What I meant to say was there hardly was any choice to make. If she had refused, or if you had, Granger would have put miss Belgrave and your son in protected custody, far from the city of Los Angeles. We figured out this were a better decision."

"So you told me she agreed." He paused for a second, sipped some of the hot liquid and then said, with a short huff "And Granger told her I agreed to this decision. How's that for trusting any of my superiors?"

"Mr. Callen, I—"

He simply motioned to halt, turned, walked to his desk to join his coworkers.

"Oh, bugger," the older lady mumbled. "I'm sorry about this, Mr. Callen." Hetty was about to take some files from the cabinet behind her, but the action was disturbed by one of the loud whistles of the technical analyst.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. As ever - love to read any reviews!_

Kni®benrots


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 **When Tomorrow Comes**

* * *

A/N _Thank you all for those lovely reviews you left so far. Sure hope you'll like this chapter as well._

Kni®benrots

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Operations || Los Angeles**

"Behold, thou all… We've gathered in here for a new case," Eric spoke enthusiastically.  
Four pair of eyes glanced at the young technical analyst who then shrugged and motioned at Owen Granger.  
The assistant director scraped his throat like only he could, then said "This morning, Chief Petty Officer Jack Lefevre and six possible recruits were attacked at the Naval Recruiting Office at Hollywood Boulevard."

"Lefevre didn't survive. Two of the applicants died as well. Three of the others were transported to hospitals, of whom one was left unharmed," Nell carried on. She tapped on her hand-held computer and some blurry, black and white footage appeared on the big screen.

"We'll improve it later on," Eric apologized. "Keep in mind the camera feed tapes every 10 seconds." He then stopped speaking and explaining so all of the others would see the same things at the same time.  
It only took them 5 minutes to go through the images twice.

"The shooter seemed to know where the security camera was," Sam said. "Which means he or she has been in the office before."

"Must be a male," Deeks said.

Kensi frowned at the words of her partner. "What makes you think it is a man?"

Deeks stepped towards the large screen. "It's a bolt-action shotgun. Not the most common one in our country and you have to know how to use it. Kensi, as a great sniper, knows how to use them. But this shooter is at close range. No time to position the gun against your shoulder and take your time to shoot. On the contrary, it looks as if he keeps the gun low, let's say at his hip. Still pays attention to keeping out of sight of the camera. It requires a certain skill."

Kensi nodded and agreed. "There were seven targets. After the first shot, six persons would be alarmed, duck away or even shoot back. It's not an automatic and it has no silencer. Maybe a Mauser? You'd need a very, very strong forearm. Like Sam, Callen perhaps," she figured.  
She then paused, waited for Callen to quickly deduct and decide who'd do what. But not now.

"G?" Sam asked.

Callen did not respond to his partner's question. Instead, he addressed Granger. "What about the other case?"

"It'll still be there when tomorrow comes, agent Callen. For the moment, you understand this case needs all of our attention."

He nodded. "I understand." One more look at the screen and he decided "Kensi, Deeks, see what you can find out about the one person who stayed alive and apparently un-attacked. After that, go and see the wounded. Sam, you and Granger should visit the crime scene."  
He managed to avoid all of their stares and continued. "Report to Hetty. Nell, Eric, I trust you gather the information about the victims, their backgrounds and situations. Keep each other informed."  
Next thing he did was turn and just before he was about to leave Ops, he simply stated "I have a funeral to prepare and to take care of. Since you also knew it was coming, I guess you won't keep me from taking some time off with my family, will you, Owen?"

Then he simply left.

All of the others were quiet for a moment, glaring at the assistant-director.  
Eric was the first who then spoke. "Right," he said, fumbling with some keys on the computer, "addresses are on your phones now."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Hollywood Boulevard || Sam's Challenger**

"We've had a case in here before, you know?" said Sam as he stopped his car at a distance from the Recruiting Office. The place was crowded with police-cars and the ever alert local press, joined by curious public. The yellow crime-scene tape was used as a wide barrier around the building. Both men observed the situation, then Sam continued "It had to do with Callen's former partner at the CIA."

The older man adjusted his jacket slightly and was about to step out of the car. "Which one of them?"  
There had been some people who'd been partnered up with the team leader.

"The one he supposedly married. Tracy Rosetti. Or perhaps you know her as Tracy Keller?"

Granger raised his brows. "Well, well. I knew they worked together for a while. But married? You're telling me Callen was married before?"

"Like I said. Supposed to be." Sam chuckled. "It's not that he fancied the woman, like he loves Becca." He then was serious again. "It's a good thing you let him go like you just did. He's tensed, I can see that. Not knowing which part of him should be in control, the professional part or family life."

Granger shrugged and said. "I've discussed this matter with Hetty. You think it's wise to have him around?"

It surprised him that Owen Granger asked. Sam tilted his head slightly, wondering how to reply. "Depends. G is keen on solving the other case. He needs a prompt ending to it, so he and Becca can pick up their lifes like they should. He's sharp, I think because it's personal. You saw what happened this morning. And to be honest, I perfectly understand why."

An explicit nod came as a response from the other man, who then got on his feet.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Operations || Los Angeles, late at night**

"Jake Andermann and Michael Johnson caught the bullets that were meant for their friend, Maryam al-Albaani. The shooter was her brother, Husam. He probably considered it as a disgrace his sister really wanted to join the Navy," Deeks said. "Lefevre was in fact 'collateral damage'. That goes for the wounded applicants Lewis Visser and Deidre O'Neill as well. Micki Fallson was the only one quick enough to duck away and really stay out of reach of the gun," he concluded.

"Nell was quick with discovering Husam had been in that same office but decided he'd rather not be enlisted after all. In his files were some remarks about the fact he didn't feel right about women joining the Navy as well," Eric piped up.

"It's sad when things like these honor crimes still happen. Women who're not allowed to make their own decisions, it sounds—" Kensi didn't finish her sentence, just put her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and glanced at Granger.  
Granger nodded. "Even third generation immigrants keep those rituals alive." He then said "Thank you all for the quick thinking. Now, about tomorrow…"

"I'd like to have some hours off," Sam bluntly interrupted. He didn't have to explain any further, because Granger said "That's what I was about to suggest. It would be good for Callen to have you all around. Show your support, pay your respects. Keep your eyes and ears open and be alert. Protect if necessary. All other work can wait."

A short but grateful smile appeared on Sam's face as he left and headed home.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Carroll Canal, Venice || four nights later**

The stress of the past few week and days should take their toll on young George Callen, Rebecca and Callen himself.  
Nothing added up, nothing new was found out, nobody uninvited showed up. The final farewell for Ike Finley was an emotional moment, but so had the intimate goodbye for their unborn girl.

The weekend should've been a moment to relax.

Callen had taken George to the beach where both of them were about to have a surfing lesson, organized by Deeks. It had been fun and both came back at the secured house, giddier than they'd been for the last couple of days.

"There was this girl, mum, and she thought she was better than me."

"And I think you showed her how wrong she was?" She smiled at her boy. Competitive, maybe like she herself had been. "You were like that too, when you were young?" she then asked Callen.  
The grin left his face. Wearing the shades like he did now, Rebecca couldn't read his eyes like she was used to. "Whenever I did get the chance, I guess so," Callen responded. He remembered the bad days in foster care. 'Competitive' wasn't the word which fitted the fights he endured. 'Survival of the fittest' sounded more like how it was. And how he survived.

"Oh, but with that blond woman, you weren't doing your best to win or beat her at all," George then brought up. He then giggled. "It was as if you wanted her to win, Mr. G."  
The boy still giggled as he took his smartphone and snuggled in one of the comfi seats in the living room.

Callen sighed. He was well aware that Becca, his Rebel, would've understood when she had been around. Yet she hadn't – surfing was a thing she was not able to do at this very moment, and she had told beforehand she was about to finish an article for one of the crime magazines.  
She had looked away at their son's remark, chewed the inside of her cheek and finally changed the subject. "Did you know that there are over three thousand words starting with the letters C and A. Ca…? And that's in English only."

He took his shades and put them away as he responded "That's a lot. Ike probably wanted to tell you about me, taking care of you, don't you think?"

She shook her head. "No, he didn't have to tell. He knew, I know. No, I think—"

"Listen, Becca, let's see what Nell and Eric will make of it," Callen said.

For a short moment, she just stared at him. Then she turned and said "I'm going to have a shower."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

She had been crying. He could still see it – traces of the tears on her cheek. She lie on the king-size bed, still dressed in an oversized shirt, the dark brown hair spread out on the pillow. The jeans she'd been wearing were thrown next to the bed.

Callen just stood and stared , wondering what went so wrong. Wondering why she hadn't shared her feelings and why she'd decided to be keep most of it to herself. Wondering why he hadn't really heard what she said. Wondering why he had decided to have a relaxed and fun time on the beach, leaving her alone. Wondering why he had not been the one to undo the belt of those jeans, to unbutton the shirt, to...

He sighed deeply.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Perhaps it had been months ago. Callen couldn't really remember the last time he had had a nightmare like he had now. There was no real reason, none he could figure out anyway. It took a while before he controlled his breathing.

"Is it—anything you want to share?" Her voice sounded soft but unexpected in the dark.

Callen shook his head. Of course unseen. "Dunno. The images are already gone, I think."

She smiled sadly, upset that he refused to share something so important to him.  
Rebecca moved to his side of the bed, nestled as close as she could and put her unhurt right arm on the bare skin of his chest. She slumbered a while like this, then fell asleep.

Callen lay awake, felt how she cuddled up and let her. He felt her now long, dark brown hair which was spread everywhere.  
He knew.  
It reminded him of his nightmare. He remembered it all, but it was something he couldn't share with her.

Lauren Hunter. She had appeared in his dream. The last few seconds he'd seen her. Seconds in which he had known he could and should have saved her, but had failed. It was useless going over the 'why now' of a memory like this.

He woke up again, only an hour after he finally had fallen asleep. The sun slowly peeked in and Callen watched how the woman next to him stretched like a cat in her sleep. Most wounds had healed fast. There were some fresh, deep purple stitches and a nasty, slow healing burning blister. And of course there still was the cast around her left arm and hand.

He carefully shove away some of the hair and kissed her neck, which made her yawn and stretch even more.

She opened her eyes, smiled warmly. "Hey," she said.

He smiled back. A boyish smile. Bad boyish. He then kissed her. Tenderly at first. Needing, then. Taking, and giving. Sharing.  
Tenderly making love, like tomorrow could wait.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Yes, I do admit. The ending of this chapter was perhaps a bit too sweet. Hope you liked it anyway!_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 **When Tomorrow Comes**

* * *

Disclaimer: all the original characters belong to CBS and Shane Brennan. I just used them for this storyline. As for all the other names and characters - they're all made up and are never meant to resemble any persons - dead or alive. If you do recognize names, remember that it is purely coincidental!

Kni®benrots

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Carroll Canal, Venice || Sunday night**

The two of them stood on the very small pathway, leaning their backs against the cool part of the house.

"I could get used to this," he said.

"To what?"

"This. You. A home, family."

She hesitated, then flashed him a smile. "This. You?" she repeated.  
She pulled up his shirt a little and let her hand go over his bare skin underneath it. Her eyes grew darker to a near black. "As long as you don't grow any more facial hair than this."

He chuckled, low and quietly, as he let his left hand lower to her firm butt. "You prefer a certain rough touch?"

It made her laugh while another emotion rushed through her body too. This was not the time for what she had in mind though. She was quiet for a while.  
Her voice sounded a bit huskier as she then said "I'm going to miss it. Actually, I miss all those things already."

He let his gaze go over her face. Now, in a relaxed mode, it wasn't difficult to read her emotions. Callen didn't respond. Instead he waited patiently until she continued, now looking away from him.

"The water. The freedom. And when this is all over... Perhaps I'll even miss this place. And the adrenaline."

He wet his lips, not sure what to say. Her roots were different - yet she appeared to be the real gypsy of the both of them. "I'm sure you'll be the one to make our life adventurous. After all - you're a Rebel," he joked, hinting at her alias.

She smiled, feeling better now. "Maybe you're right. Life is an adventure as it is. And before you know it, all is over. So, we should enjoy and cherish what we have right now."

"There's no way I can pay a house like this, you know. Not with the paycheck we get from the agency."

Becca shook her head. "Not necessarily a house like this, but a place which feels like home. In this city, the beach is always close enough. Oh, and perhaps I should work a bit harder and earn a living as a writer." A short and sad smile came and went as she added "Besides, I'll be too old for field work soon."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Carroll Canal, Venice || early Monday morning**

The alarm clock went off softer than before and Callen quickly turned it off. He figured he shouldn't have to wake Rebecca. He was wrong as the scent of freshly brewed coffee reached his nose.  
He looked outside, surprised to see her outside doing some basic training. He should've known. Having to stay in a secluded place like this would soon bore her to death, Callen realized.

He took a quick shower, dressed like he mostly did – a comfortable jeans combined with a plain, button-down marine blue shirt. Downstairs he would pull on his Blundstones. He grabbed a toast and a cup of coffee, watched her while he enjoyed breakfast and went outside.

"Were you cleared for physical exercises?" he simply asked.

She looked up "Good morning to you too."  
The dark Labrador looked up at Callen at the same pace. The dog belonged to Maurice but kept her company nearly every time Callen had not been around. Perhaps some deal Maurice and Hetty made. Callen never discussed it with either of them. None of them seemed to care for its presence, on the contrary, the dog was fond of Rebecca ánd George.

Callen greeted them shortly, then stated "It's just that… are you sure you're allowed to do your exercises like this?"

She nodded as a short confirmation. "Any exercise will do."

He chuckled, kissed her and said "Sam will be around to pick me up any moment now. Maurice will drive George to school, but remember, Michelle will pick him up as Kamran invited George for a party."

"He'll stay around, I know. Then Maurice picks him up tomorrow afternoon." The roaring of the Challenger announced Sam's arrival. She kissed him deeply. "Off you go."

He hesitated for a while. "I hope we'll work on your case again, Rebel. Unless Granger—"

"Not my case, Geca, yours," she said.

He turned and hurried to the barrier, wondering why her words sounded so off, although they simply were facts.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Sam's Challenger || Monday morning**

"You think there comes a time we'll be too old to run 'nd catch the baddies?"

Sam glanced sideward, not used to such an early-morning question. "What's that all about?"

Callen shrugged a bit deeper in the passenger seat. "Just something Becca said. That she'd soon be too old for fieldwork. Y'think that goes for us as well?"

A chuckle came from his partner behind the wheel. "Only one way to check – practice, keep chasing baddies. Or perhaps I could convince Hetty to arrange a new physical assessment for you?" Sam laughed out loud. "Be glad that lady of yours sees to it you eat healthier. No more bacon breakfasts. Which means you'll live a healthier life."

"So you never doubt anything when it comes to your age or condition?"

"Not now. But sure, I'm aware we can't go on forever. Michelle and I talk about it every now and then," Sam answered.

"We can't all be Hetties or Grangers," Callen remarked. "So?"

"You can." Sam simply stated. Then the dimples appeared in his cheeks and he laughed "Michelle and Kamran suggested I should start a new career as a rapper. How's that?"

"Don't you dare." Callen now glared at his partner. There was no escape. And rap-songs were not his style – not at all.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Operations || Los Angeles**

Sam still chuckled at Callen's reaction to his singing. The agent in charge dropped his go-bag next to his desk and took his laptop from the postman's bag he still carried, put it on his desk and started his computer. The moment he wanted to insert his CAC, the sound of a tea kettle whistling came from upstairs.

"Brewed some fresh information in here guys," Eric smiled. "The juniors are on their way. Be up here in five."

"What was that all about?" Sam said.

"Dunno. Perhaps something like a fresh case. Let's see what the wonder-twins have for us. The little lady is around already, see?"  
Hetty's coat was on the hanger and a pile of paper was already neatly put in the left corner of her desk indeed. Callen knew she'd be up in the Ops center already. He quickly checked his phone, put in the pocket of his jeans and joined the co-workers, followed by his large and strong partner.

The sliding doors closed only seconds when Deeks and Kensi also entered and instead of Callen asking to go ahead, this time it was Eric who first spoke. "A lead. A very small lead, I do agree, but it at least it's a real lead indeed," he said.

"Good grief Mr. Beale. Just tell the others what you want to. No word-games are required. Go on please," Hetty addressed the young man.

Eric adjusted his glasses slighthly and continued. "As I said, there's a lead. The lab results came back from Washington very early this morning."

"Go on," Sam prodded.

"It's the wire," Eric said. He sent a hardly noticeable nod to his co-worker and Nell tapped on her hand-held computer.

Eric pointed at the screen. "this is the cross-section of the wire Maria King was strangled with. And this—" he now enlarged another picture, "this is a small part of what's left from what Rebecca noticed."

He glanced at the senior agent, not too sure if talking about this case that must be very personal to Callen would affect the man's way of discussing it.

"So what you're telling us is that the person who failed to kill Rebecca succeeded when it came to the other woman?" It sounded harsh and Deeks realized it the moment he'd spoken. What if it had been about Kensi and Callen was the one to observe and conclude the way he just did?

Kensi understood how he felt and said "Such a different MO it is, don't you think?"

"It is," Nell explained. "But on the other hand, the material which was used is exactly the same. According to our Washington guys, 'wire' may sound as if it's nothing special. But this stuff is really not the material you have in your houses. If you were to look for it, you'd only find it with specialized retailers. Which would leave only seven in all of Los Angeles."

"What is it used for, any clues for that?" Sam wanted to know.

"I thought a wire is a wire," Deeks mumbled. "And now you tell me there are different wires? Why?"

"Cables and wires may all look alike. However, this one is customized. Think of a special fiber, the bending strength, the way it's bundled, the heat protection or the insulation… Anyway. Stewart, our Washington man, managed to find out it's mostly used for the tv-world. It is to be connected to camera's for field work. Nowadays lots of the cable guys use satellite, but these wires are still used," Eric said. "Perfect transmitters of anything like sound, images and whatever needs to be transmitted secure and safely."

"Like being connected to a motion sensor. I get that," Callen understood.

"As I said. Very customized and only available in seven different shops," Nell repeated.

"Then what's the deal - Let's divide and conquer," Deeks suggested. "Now we've had those two men, the German and the Russian, as possible connections to both cases, maybe showing a picture of them might help. It ain't that much – we could check those addresses in half a day. The only thing which doesn't make sense is that whatever the lead, there's no real connection."

The tiny operations manager made a step forward till she stood next to the young analysts. "Good thinking, Mr. Deeks. Now, Miss Jones here has been looking for clues and connections."

Nell nodded and spoke, as she automatically shove back some of her reddish long hair behind her ear "It may sound strange. This man Degener didn't mind getting hit by a car, probably because he was the one to check if who-ever was responsible for the job, succeeded. If not, he was about to finish it. Then there's Toeplyev. He either was responsible for the disappearance of Finley and the assassination of his own girl-friend, or he disappeared and was killed as well. So, we've issued a BOLO for him as well. Checked all the airports, cruises, coroners and all, but nothing so far. All that connects those both men was the amount of money ánd this material which was used in two, for the eye, different cases. Then there's the connection between the death of Ike Finley and the attempt to stop the life of Rebecca Belgrave."

"We all know how easy it is to live an anonymous life in this city, or even change ones appearance," Sam said, thinking of how easily his partner could change into a personality that fitted with the way of clothing, behavior and so on. Becca knew how to use those same qualities. It made her, like his own co-workers, a great undercover agent. Or rather, it had made her a great undercover agent, since she quit that job.  
Still, she'd changed her look which should make her unseen, unrecognizable from the woman he'd seen when she first showed up in his life.

"It all takes so much time. How come?" Callen asked. "We've had so many cases we solved within a week. How come not this one?"

A deep sigh escaped when Hetty responded "Dear Mr. Callen, we all know you need to get this case done, gone and closed, but you do seem to have forgotten the cold cases. The files we stuffed in the archives. Those answers which you, your team and the other teams, never find." Then, as he motioned and she realized he wanted to say something too, she continued "And we all wish you a relaxed life, with your family. But so far—"

"She needs a normal life Hetty. Right now, she's like a caged animal. Bored to death and irritated. Not talking about relaxing. We're talking about doing ones job, shopping for groceries without any bodyguard and not being driven around in a car with dark glass. That kind of life," Callen said. It surprised him to talk about his inner thoughts and personal life with all of his coworkers around and he turned.  
"Let's check this cable-stuff guys. Eric, will you send the addresses to our cell-phones?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Carroll Canal, Venice || later that morning**

The phone call had surprised Rebecca. Things took a different turn all of a sudden and she was thinking how to deal with it.  
Maurice. She'd discuss it with him first. Then after that, she'd inform Callen. That's what she'd do.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading this chapter. Hope you'll let me know your thoughts about what's going on!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 **When Tomorrow Comes**

* * *

Disclaimer: I gladly used the familiar characters that appear in NCIS-LA. Of course, their creator knows I fully acknowledge the fact that they're not mine!

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Carroll Canal, Venice || later that morning**

"We made fun about this idea only this weekend. And 'Awesome Agents' Anecdotes' is about the same as 'True Detectives'. Both of them published some of my stories already," she told Maurice.

"So you do trust them?"

"All correspondents whose columns have been published are invited," Rebecca reasoned. "They called at my burn phone. They're the only ones who use that number, and Hetty and the others know that number too. And we share information by e-mail. We made sure with Hetty's help the IP is untraceable as well."

The older man smiled at her enthusiastic talk. "We need to make some slight adjustments to have you look great in a photoshoot. Make-up, nail polish..." Maurice let his gaze go over the woman's face, tilted his head slightly and nodded. "Compared to when you first arrived in here, you're pretty unrecognizable. So sure, why not?"

"Great. So I can tell Callen you'll be my company this afternoon?"

"Oh, I'm not going to let you out of sight." Maurice paused a second and asked "The boy's with your friends, right?"

A confirming nod came his way as Rebecca took her phone. It rang 5 times, then jumped to voice-mail. She wondered for a short minute what to say, then she spoke 'will be at the office of AAA this afternoon. Maurice will join me. Call me back, will you?'

He'd listen to his voice-mail, she figured.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Sam's Challenger || Firestone Boulevard**

"Are you expecting anything special from those retailers?" Sam asked. His eyes were fixed on the ever so busy traffic.

"Hoping for something more than this vague clues we've had so far."

"Vague?"

Callen hummed. "German. Russian. Dead bodies that don't speak, wire, explosives. Hell, that's what I call vague."

"You sound irritated. Need something sweet?"

"I'm not irritated. Just want this case… done. Gone. Get our lives back."

Sam slowed down, found a parking lot and finally halted his car. "Well then. Let's see what we can do about that in here."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

No bells rung at the two first addresses Sam and Callen visited. On their way to the third, Eric called in.  
 _-"Shaggy and Wonder Woman may have a hit guys. You're about ten minutes from the address you were about to visit, but you may just as well head to the boatshed and see what the others are facing."_

"Got it," Callen answered. He then called off, sighed and said "Say bye-bye to being in the field buddy."

"You reckon the juniors will ask their possible witness to join us in the boatshed?"

Callen nodded. "Guess so. That's what Eric wanted to let us know. So, let's go." A quick look at his watch confirmed what he thought. "Maybe we can have lunch in the Marina."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Boatshed || Marina del Rey || 1.15 PM**

"So you were around when this guy entered your showroom?" Kensi asked the young man.

The man nervously let his hand go through his red hair. When he lifted his arm, Kensi noticed the sweat stains. She then said "Listen Keith, you didn't do anything wrong. Like we just mentioned, we need your confirmation, that's all."

The man looked up when she spoke and let his hand rest on the table again. "Andrew handed the security tapes. You should be able to use that information, right?"

She gently smiled. "Sure, we can use it as evidence, but it's only footage. What we want to know as well is if they asked you something specific. All of it."

"The material he bought from you was used for some crimes. So think hard," Deeks added.

The young man moved his chair back with a jerk "Are you telling me I'm guilty of a crime too?"

"No-no-no," Kensi reassured. "Like we said, please think hard what they said and how it sounded. We need your words, your statement."

From the screen in the larger room, Sam and Callen watched the younger co-workers talk to the young man.  
Callen shook his head. "It's great they found some evidence. But I don't think this guy will help us through it all." He tapped the landline on the table, waited some seconds until he heard Nell answer it. "You found something from those tapes we can use?" he asked.

 _-"Nothing so far. This guy, Keith Nickols, thought he'd seen Degener 'bout two weeks ago. And he wasn't alone, someone waited outside according to what Nickols told Deeks,"_ Nell said. Beeps and other sounds came through, disturbing Callen's thoughts.  
"Listen, if anything new comes up just contact us."

 _-"Don't we always?"_ Nell responded.

They did, Callen knew and he was grateful for the quick way both his co-workers at the office worked.  
He felt grateful, until he found out that the ever so sharp bossy operational manager had been listening with Nell. Or maybe she just had been stealthy and knew, just knew, what was going on. Her voice sounded:  
 _-"In fact, Mr. Callen, contacting with all those fancy material we use is such an overrated thing. If you were here, no artificial ways of talking to each other were necessary. So, let the junior agents discuss what they have to with this poor young man. The youngsters in here work their asses off. I suppose there's lots of paper waiting for you. In fact, I notice some fresh mail waiting at your desk. Work your way through traffic and take your seats to do the things you need to do, will you?"_

He sighed deeply. "Honestly Hetty?" She probably disconnected already. "Really Sam. Got the feeling that Hetty just wants us to be as far from the action as possible."

"Uh-huh. On the other hand we won't solve the case in here, so-"

"Got the feeling we'll never find about the who or why, Sam."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The white truck had red and yellow letters on it - 'photoset wherever we get'.

"So you're going to have to wait another ten minutes," Maurice told Rebecca. He leaned forward into the passenger window as he addressed her. He had informed inside of the office.  
She nodded. "Tim Palmer is still waiting in there, I can see him sitting in there," she said with a smile.

"You like working with him?"

She stared at Maurice. "But I... I never met him. I mean, I never worked with him or worked in here. Palmer-he is one of the famous crime writers who also write for the magazine."

"Right. Well, off we go, right?" The older man spoke.  
Rebecca nodded, got out and stepped next to the other man to the office of the magazine. She looked around, curiously. A reception area with a small waiting area. Two young women worked behind computer screens. A list of names was lying on the front desk. Behind it, another office cubicle with an older woman and a man working concentrated on a computer. None of them reacted to her being there, simply because so far, only her writing was known. So far.

Palmer finished his photoshoot in a matter of minutes. One of the receptionist noticed and told Rebecca she was next. Maurice let his gaze go over her. "You'll look great my dear."

She smiled at him, knowing it would be her on a picture, yet so different from how she really looked like. Not her real hair, the glasses, the make-up. A perfect cover indeed, she thought as she crossed the sideway toward the truck.  
Then it all went so fast. There were gunshots, then the shouting, somebody pressing her down. Automatically she reached for her gun which wasn't there. Someone tapping her shoulder. "In here, in here, get in here," as he entered the photo-truck. And so she followed.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS LA Headquarters || twenty minutes later**

"Nothing new on face-rec so far," Nell said.

"And about the guys on this security tape?" Sam asked.

She shook her head, feeling she let her senior co-workers down. "It's Degener, we figure. But the other man isn't Toeplyev. We haven't ID'd him yet. Not that it matters, I think. They bought the material and that's it. But we'll keep looking for this other man."  
She enlarged the picture and behind Degener stood a young man. Dark hair, just slightly too long, a distinctive and old-fashioned moustache but apart from that, nothing notable.

"About 25, maybe 27?" Sam guessed. "This Degener, he's about six foot two, right? In that case, I'd say this second man is what, six foot, maybe less?"  
Eric nodded and entered the data "It'll change our perimeters, adding those figures."

"Paperwork, gentlemen. There's paperwork waiting for you. Let these systems of Mr. Beale in here do their magic." She was standing close behind Sam and Callen, scaring them as only she could. And of course, Henrietta Lange felt that her senior agents weren't happy with her order. "Now, shoo," and she clapped her hands.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Sam stood near the cabinet, waiting till the coffeepot was filled with fresh coffee for the two mugs he put in there. He glanced at the other workers in the office.  
Owen Granger sat at the antique desk. Lately he had an office chair of his own which he occupied right now. It sat exactly opposite of the stylish chair that belonged to Hetty, and it was modern. So was the laptop he worked on. Sam shook his head. It was just this tiny bit of space the assistant director used, however, it was unusual to see him working at that desk at the same time as Hetty did.  
He then observed his partner. The piles of paperwork were high, part of the fact the lead agent was the one responsible to write the final conclusions, sign the files and have them ready for the management to assess them. Right now, Callen concentrated on his inbox.  
"Bills that were unaccounted for?" Sam smiled as he handed Callen a cup of coffee.

"Thanks but no. Not my cup of tea," Callen joked as he gratefully took a careful sip of the hot and dark liquid.  
The penetrating sound of someone whistling fingers sounded. This time it was Hetty standing on the balcony, which surprised them.  
"Well. Are you going to stay in there? Who did you think taught Mr. Beale to get a team up in Ops?"

Sam motioned to his partner not to respond. This time, he took the lead up the stairs and since he was in first, he asked "What we've got, Eric?"

"An identity," Nell answered instead. "This third man, we know who he is. Roger Dumoulin. French, 28 years old, citizen of Los Angeles since 2011."

"French?" Callen's voice sounded sharp.

Sam glanced sideward at this question, then asked "Did you find what he has in common with this Degener, or with Toeplyev? I mean… German, Russian, now French."  
Nell shook her head and so did Eric.  
"Just hurry with that," Callen said.

"Easy now, agent Callen," Granger intervened.

"You don't have to tell me what to do," Callen flatly said. "The connection might be the answer to all of it. I simply… well, never mind."

"We'll let you know what we find as soon as we do, Callen," Nell answered in a soft voice.

He sent her a short smile and left Ops again, knowing the others would do whatever they had to do. He let out a long sigh, not sure why this new information bothered him this much. He sat down behind his own desk, rebooted his laptop and took some of his coffee again.

"Mr. Callen, a word please?" Callen looked up. The tiny boss smiled at him, warmer than he expected.

"About what?" he wanted to know.

The older woman rolled back the chair behind Kensi's desk, lowered it and swiveled it to face the man she knew so well. The man she loved as her own son. Slowly she let her gaze go over his face. "I read the worry on your face, dear boy. This case is eating you up, we all understand."

"Do you?"  
It sounded cold, irritated and still, she really understood.

"You're under a lot of pressure, and you are personally very, very involved."

His blue eyes were icy as he pierced at her, so much it nearly made her feel hurt because of what she just said. "So you're here to tell me you're taking me off the case?"

For a second, she closed her eyes. Then she looked down, not sure how to continue. "That would not be my choice, Mr. Callen. However, the assistant director discussed this matter with me several times. So far, I have convinced him that pressure can produce results."  
Again, she paused. The expression on his face changed.  
"I got your message Hetty. We all need results indeed," he replied. Again, he took his coffee, about to concentrate on the things she wanted him to work on.  
Until there were clues to follow.  
Until now.  
Until he opened the last letter on his desk.

The moment Hetty Lange turned her back on the four desks to do her own things, she heard his sharp inhale of breath behind her and the sound of his mug clattering on his desk.

* * *

 _Hope you liked this chapter. Things will take a different turn indeed…_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**  
 **When Tomorrow Comes**

* * *

 **Figueroa Street || Los Angeles**

Had it been Maurice, who pressed her down even closer to the pavement so she'd not get hurt? Rebecca thought it had been him. The assurance in someone else's voice telling that it might be safe inside of that truck.  
How naïve.  
This definitely was one of her most foolish actions ever. Because here she was, unsteady and lying down on the floor of a driving truck, a gun pointed at her and she simply didn't have a clue except that this truck was driving and that movement made her feel sick.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS LA Headquarters || same time**

Something was wrong in a way that worried Hetty the minute she simply heard him inhale. "Mr. Callen?"

He didn't answer. Just sat at his desk, shocked, his gaze going over whatever it was what he saw on the piece of paper he held. Then, as if all was in a slow motion, he took his phone. Read. Scrolled down. Read again. He cursed just once, yet Hetty Lange read several more curses on his face as raw emotions went over his face. She only observed how his world obviously changed, whereas hers did not. "Mr. Callen?" she repeated.

For a second, Callen glanced at her. Then he shrugged and shook his head, was about to show her something when her phone rang.  
He got up as if he realized he needed to hurry. He opened the drawer of Sam's desk, grabbed the keys he found in there and hurried out of the building.

Callen never heard his partner shout "G?!"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS LA Headquarters || minutes later**

"This is exactly what I warned you of," Granger nearly snapped. "He is unpredictable, going his own way once again."

Hetty didn't respond. Could it be he went lone wolf like he did so many times in the past? Still, ever since Callen lead this team it hardly happened. She slowly shook her head and uttered her disagreement. "This is no impulsive action Owen. He's forced to do this. Maurice just called in." She then faced the others, straightened her shoulders so she looked stronger than she now felt.  
"Mr. Beale and miss Jones, see what you can find about a shooting near 610, Figueroa Street. See if Kaleidoscope can find a white truck with yellow and red printed letters on it and find out with all the possible efforts what the relationship between these three men is."

Granger just stood and listened. "Brief us just a bit longer please Henrietta. What did we miss?"

She sighed and told "Rebecca Belgrave was asked for a photoshoot since she became a regular writer for a detective magazine. Maurice checked. All was being arranged of by the magazine owners indeed. Maurice informed me about it, he was accompanying her. Like he informed me only minutes ago about a shooting outside of the building where both of them were." Hetty paused for a second, thought and said "Miss Jones, have Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye interview the personnel in there. See if there are witnesses, all the regular stuff."

Nell turned from the others, still listened and informed the pair of agents they were needed elsewhere.

Then Sam felt like he needed to say something, and a small smile played on his face as he did "He's not going lone wolf at all. He never switched off his phone and we can also follow the GPS of my car. Eric, any details on where he's going?"

Eric turned to his computer, entered the data and let the information come up the table top screen. "Heading East on the I-10."

Granger frowned. "He's not going to answer his phone."

Sam shook his head. "He won't. Must be too worried and in too much hurry to get to a certain point." He glanced at the assistant director. "Gut feeling he wants us to follow."

Granger then gazed at the four pair of faces, each with their own thoughts and feelings. He nodded and understood. "Nell, have the others follow as well." He scraped his throat and added "Hanna. My car. I drive."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Somewhere || Los Angeles**

The truck did not drive any longer. It was parked somewhere. She had a quick glance when the back doors were opened and the driver joined them. It appeared to be a large parking, but Rebecca couldn't figure out where.  
"Who are you? What do you want?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter who we are," the older of the two answered. "Besides, you probably already know who we are. I think your lover told you."

She looked away from him. Grigory Toeplyev. The Russian. Not Greg Tomalek, photographer, like the agency had been told. She should've checked more carefully. No time to look back though. "But who áre you? We never met. So why you, why me?" Rebecca tried again.

This time the younger man replied. "Degener made a mistake. Blowing up your yacht was okay, but you were too close. There was no chance to get to you that time since there were too many people around. That older woman with the dog and the young boy."

Again, she looked away. At least they hadn't linked her to George. She shivered. She needed to get away from here. Get back to the boy, get back home.  
For a while nobody spoke. Maybe if she waited a bit longer, the man would reveal more. And he did.

"We're being paid to get you killed," the dark haired younger man said. Toeplyev waved his left hand, not taking the gun away, as if to halt his companion from continuing. It did not work.  
"There's no reason to keep it from her, is there?" the younger man responded.

An evil grin appeared on the other man's face. "But we need the right audience first. And we need prove." Toeplyev glanced at his watch. "In about half an hour, your friend will be around. We need to set things up before the fun happens."

They were talking about Callen. She was the bait to get him here. Still, Rebecca realized she missed a clue. This wasn't about her. It never had been. It had been about Callen, all the time and they missed it.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Dodger Stadium Parking || 3.20 PM**

The doors of the white truck were wide open. She had been hoisted up, her hands tied with the grey wire to place where the hinges of the doors were adjusted too. Another piece of wire was tied onto her waist. He noticed the small trace of dried blood on her face, the duct tape.

Callen had come alone. Rebecca shook her head. Wanted to shout it would be in vain, but she couldn't. She read the anger in his eyes. The anger and the frustration.  
"Where are they?"  
His voice was low and quiet, all contrary to his feelings.

Behind him, Sam and Deeks appeared. Callen never even looked around, he recognized their footsteps. "Janvier," he said. "It's him." He stepped closer to the truck, his gaze never leaving her eyes. Without words, she warned him to stay away.

"It's going to be alright, Becca." Sam's dark voice sounded calm. "We've got this under control."  
She shook her head and closed her eyes for a second, trying to motion to where she knew the danger came from.  
A red dot then appeared on her blouse and moved on up till she knew it was aimed at her jaw. She noticed how both men glanced at it and she closed her eyes. This was it. She wanted to stay, wanted to let Callen know she never blamed him. That she loved him. That she trusted him. She held her breath. Opened her eyes. One more time to see the love of her life.  
A shot cracked.  
And she still stood.

"That was Kensi," Deeks spoke in a soft voice.

Immediately after, a voice sounded. "Agent Callen? I have to give the regards of a mutual acquaintance. I believe you know Marcel Janvier?"  
The man who spoke slowly came closer.

Again, it was Sam who responded. "You don't have to do this, Mr. Toeplyev."

A snort came as a response. "I see you know my name." From the shadow of some other cars, he came closer and all three men drew their guns.  
"Just to remind you that if you shoot, I might have pressed the necessary numbers and contacted the other phone. You see, my thumb is on the green contact button already. On the other hand, if you don't shoot I might do it too," the man said. "I've got nothing to lose, except my life. And if it's not you who end it, it'll be Janvier in the end. But you, on the contrary, would lose a lot more."

Callen wet his now dry lips.  
Janvier had been the puppeteer of this all. 'I know who you love. I know where you live.' It had been a short message only and it was no empty threat at all. He'd spoken those words years ago. Janvier had killed Renko, like they attempted to shoot Becca only just now.  
Now there was this short flashback of how Janvier himself had pressed a number on his phone and the car with Lauren Hunter exploded. Not this time. Not Rebel.  
He looked up and she read the panic and immediately after, the fear in his eyes. That was the moment she knew this was real bad.

Then Toeplyev raised his arm, smiled and let his thumb leave the green contact button indeed.

* * *

Don't leave me this way  
I can't survive, I can't stay alive  
Without you love, oh baby  
Don't leave me this way  
I can't exist, I will surely miss  
Your tender kiss  
So don't leave me this way

~Thelma Houston~

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. This story comes to an end soon now... Your reviews are very welcome!_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

 **When Tomorrow Comes**

* * *

A/N Thanks for appreciating the past few chapters, especially to Skippy, Ilse, Wotumba, Linda, Karine, EvaMcBain, guest and Vicki, for leaving your always so welcome reviews! They're very welcome.

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **April 24, 2015 || West Gage Avenue || Los Angeles, 2 days later**

"He's sleeping?" she asked as she noticed him coming into the living room again.

He leant against the breakfast bar and nodded, letting his hands go through his short, dirty blond hair. "Thanks Michelle. I… I wouldn't have asked it myself. Guess it's the best way for now."

She sent him a short encouraging smile. "That's what's friends are for, G. It's safe in here."

"For the time being."

Michelle understood he lost confidence. Safety was overrated after all. She stepped closer to him and put her small but strong hand on his forearm. "Don't blame yourself Callen."

He shook his head and looked away, his shoulders slump. "Should've seen this coming," he responded.

Both paused for a moment.

"You need your rest too," Michelle said, knowing it was useless to argue right now. "It's safe in here," she repeated.

He loudly breathed out. "Only after Sam's back."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **ADX Florence || Colorado, April 24**

They came without notice.

The doors to the corridor were opened. Then, there were three pair of footsteps coming closer. One of the unit's standard guards opened the small hatch in the cell door. The man was not interested if he was or was not, resting or using the lavatory.  
"Visitors," he just announced. The heavy keys opened the door and the guard simply stepped back. He had done what he had to do, escorting the two men.

"Five minutes," the youngest of both men addressed the guard. The man nodded at the lean man with the untidy blond hair. Then he turned to the larger corridor doors, slid them open again, walked through them and closed the doors behind his back.

He got up from his bed and a smug grin appeared on his face. "Your partner didn't feel like joining you?" Janvier's hand – his right one, since it was the only one left – went through his now nearly white hair.

"You bastard. You sick, fuckin' bastard." His voice was low, but the enraged tone in Sam Hanna's words was straightforward and meant.

"If agent G. Callen feels like talking to me, tell him he's free to come over." Janvier held up both his hands now and shook his head when he noticed Sam was about to continue. "I've got nothing to say to either of you."

Sam glanced at Deeks and sent the younger detective a supportive nod. Deeks smiled back at the large former SEAL and understood the message without words.

"Neither have we," Deeks responded. Without any further warning, his right arm started moving to Janvier's face in a fast motion and he hit the other man on the right jaw - the one which had not been hit by the bullet Callen once shot at the other man.  
Even before Janvier had a chance to stumble backwards, the left fist of Marty Deeks punched him hard in the sternum. With one sharp gasp, Marcel Janvier went down, his head hitting the brick wall and he crashed straight on the small floor in the cell.

Deeks had clenched his jaw. The rage he felt hadn't left by this action but he knew he had to keep it in control. And he had to keep Sam in control.  
Still, his hands were fisted. Slowly then he stretched them again. He reached for the even stronger and broad shoulder of Sam and said "Our five minutes are up. Let's go."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Four weeks later**

"Your appointment is here, Sir," the older, uniformed man announced in a rather nasal voice.

He nodded. Although he had agreed to this meeting, it was one of the discussions that he had wanted to avoid. However, there were other persons to take into account this time.

The other man motioned at him as in an invitation and he let him lead the way to the office room.

"Just sit down please. It'll only take a second," the man said as he quickly bent and put everything in the right position. And indeed, it took just a short minute before he got installed.

"I'll send her in in a minute," the man then told him a matter-of-fact tone.

He sat and waited. In a way nervous about what he might expect. Nerves. Excitement. He let out a short huff, a way to let out his frustrations. In a way, life had become… boring.  
The feverish excitement that had built up in the past half year had left. And now it was like he had no goal left in life.  
The planning had been so much fun.  
Degener, whom he met in here. It had been easy to find his weak spots. Even easier to press the right button and find out how to make use of the man. Degener had been a perfect planner, spy and victim at the same time. Toeplyev was different. Well, he met the whole family in the past and senior Toeplyev in Russia owed him. But making his son, Grigori, understand how he should work had proved more difficult from his position than he had envisioned. But how he had loved the concentration and the planning. He let out a deep sigh.  
Revenge had been sweet.  
It would have been even better to tell that to agent Callen himself.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS LA Headquarters || shortly before **

He let his gaze go over his partner's face. So far, there were no emotions he read and Sam did not know if that was good or not. "You're okay?" he asked.

The clear blue eyes were tired and without the usual sparks. A short nod came Sam's way, together with a 'guess so'.

"It's gonna be out of your hands in an hour from now. You think you can handle that?" Sam realized his question sounded more worried than he had wanted to.

"Have to. Besides, Granger made it clear that… well. If I'd leave this building or intervene in any other way, my career is over. Not too sure what I should make of that."

A short chuckle came his way. "Owen is a real control freak. You ought to trust him."

He shrugged. "I know. Doesn't mean I like it." Callen then rolled back the office chair from his desk and trudged up the stairs to the Ops.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Minutes later**

He recognized it immediately. Very French.

The immaculate way of clothing – stylish without being overdressed. A burgundy two piece suit, the pencil skirt perfectly knee-high. High heels, silk stockings. Pearl earrings that went with a ditto necklace. Dark hair in a bun.  
Probably because of the unusual surroundings, she looked a little nervous. Grey eyes, dark eyeliner and a decent pale pink lipstick on her attractive, broad mouth. Classic.

Never mind he was told why the woman would be around, it was a pleasant surprise in these dull days, filled with orange and olive which belonged to prison life.

She carefully sat down, looking around if there was anyone around to protect her from anything nasty that might occur in these strange surroundings. Then she tried a polite smile, bowed over to get a file from the light brown ladylike briefcase and put it in front of her, on the table. A plain brown pencil came with it.  
"The papers of Orrick Rammalt Martel, on behalf of Amélie Julie Prevost, née Janvier," she then said in a husky voice, with a slight accent which he liked. "It was quite a challenge to find you," she added after a second.

"Mais vous avez réussi [but you succeeded]," Janvier said.

"Voilà mon travail [that's my job]," she flashed him a small but absent smile.

"Impressive." He leaned back, relaxed now.

This time, she did not respond. She opened the paper file, went through the contents, read just a second.

'Very professional', he thought. 'Very welcome too.' He shuffled in his chair and hummed softly. Watched how her well-manicured fingers took the pencil, made a short comment on the paper. He started to think what else those fingers could do, then tried to look away. He licked his lips and let out a slow sigh. He should keep thoughts like that for a more private moment.

She sensed how his gaze went over her face and her body and she tried to hide the annoyance she felt. Scraped her now dry throat and said "So. Your daughter is turning 16 in two weeks from now."

His light, grey eyes showed no emotion at all. "You're here to tell me that? What's this about, her legal rights? Family benefits?" It sounded harsh and he continued "I'm sorry. You've got kids, miss…?"

Another polite smile came his way. "It's not about me, monsieur Janvier." The right hand with the pencil left the files and she carefully placed the pencil back on the table.

His eyes followed every movement. "Engaged I see," pointing at the ring.

She pulled back her hand fast and repeated, sharper now. "This is not about me."

Janvier now chuckled softly, knowing he could mastermind even this situation. Get under her skin. "Some emotions. God, how I love that."

Her grey eyes had turned darker and met his. Janvier was surprised at the strong will which now was shown. "Your fiancé must be a lucky man. French?"

A small smirk now appeared on her face. "American actually."  
Then she opened the paper file once more and skimmed through the papers. His eyes followed every movement. Caught her perfume. He felt himself getting aroused again. Still, he was agitated about how this woman managed to hide her emotions sooner than he appreciated. He nearly moaned as he started to fantasize about how he could play her, domineer her. If not in here, maybe someday, later on.

Janvier now concentrated on the papers. Legal letters. Then she stopped, turned the papers with her left hand so he could read them better. "Son certificate de naissance. This is correct, right?"

"You know it is."

"Something wrong, monsieur Janvier?" she asked in the same husky voice, raising her brows.

He shook his head and responded irritated. "Your office could have done this checking with paperwork only. Why were you sent in here?"

"My office?" she asked as she looked him straight into his eyes.

"Orrick and Marralt, whatever it's called," he replied.

She shook her head. "Nobody told you I work for that office. What I just showed you are copies from the paperwork of that office indeed."  
She now turned the files, closed them and bend down to take another map from her suitcase which she then put in front of him.  
"Amélie Julie Prevost. Living with her mother, Yvonne Prevost in Paris at the Rue Claude Decaen. Première grade, Lycée Jean Lurçat. Midfield of team 2c, field hockey team de Cercle Féminin de Paris"  
The file map was filled with several pictures of a shy young girl, stepping out of a car, together with several other girls, alone in a lobby of a building, laughing with probably her best friend in the Paris underground. Close-ups, some from farther away.

His face was unreadable, yet his eyes darted from the pictures to her face and back. Then he snarled "What's this all about?"

She calmly leaned forward, this time her elbows on the table, both hands entangled and leaning her chin on them. For some quiet seconds she only observed him. Then she said "I know who you care about, Marcel Janvier. I know where she lives. We know how to find her."

Her words sank in fast. He bolted from the chair, grabbed her left hand and stared at it, realizing he should've seen it before - there were only four fingers. And he knew "You bitch. You sly little bitch!" he shouted.

Despite the painful grip on the hand that had been hurt only recently, Rebecca Belgrave stepped backwards, knowing Granger was close enough to come for an assist. But until now, she managed to tear herself loose, and kept on her feet.  
She faced him, just faced him, without words.

The horror on his face now was supplemented with a mix of pure hate and fear. "Don't you dare coming close to her, you stay away from her, you skank."

Then two guards appeared, together with Granger who was still dressed in one of the standard olive uniforms as well.

"Your interview was taped, mister Janvier. Threatening a visitor like you just did is considered a criminal offense." Granger paused for a moment and a short smile appeared on his face. "Consider this to be the last visit you had. I don't know how solitary is in this solitary confinement prison, but be sure there'll be no more socializing with other inmates from now on."

Rebecca took the briefcase from the room, keeping her face unreadable. The moment when she turned to leave the room, she heard the soft hiss from the man who'd ruined so much of Callen's life, from her life.  
"It's a stalemate. That's all it is."

She straightened her back and shoulders, then let her gaze to over the man's face until her eyes stared directly into his light grey eyes. It would not be her to look away.

Finally it was Granger who scraped his throat. "Let's go Becca."

She nodded. "Remember what I've just told you," she mentioned to the man in the orange jumpsuit.  
Then she turned, not to look back, heading to where the doors would lead to the free and fresh world outside.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

On the way back to the airport, Granger glanced at the younger woman next to him. She had undone her bun and now hid partly behind the loose, long hair.  
"You're okay?" he asked.

She shrugged as an answer, not in a mood to discuss it right here, right now.

He understood. "Let's go home Becca."

She glanced back at the other man and slowly shook her head.

* * *

 _Thank you so much for reading. There will be one epilogue next... Feel free to share your thoughts!_


	15. Chapter 15

**Epilogue**  
 **When Tomorrow Comes**

* * *

Disclaimer: The original characters of this storyline are NCIS LA's and therefor belong to CBS and Shane Brennan. Personally, I am very glad they're around already and that I was allowed to 'use them' for fanfiction purposes only!

* * *

A/N * Some of you referred to what happened to Rebecca and how she got to miss a finger. It happened in another story (Turn Back Time).

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

She didn't feel like talking during the nearly two-and-a-half hour flight from Denver back to Los Angeles. She kept her eyes closed and her thoughts to herself.

Granger's car was waiting at LAX. He put the little things he'd carried around in the backseat, yet he noticed Rebecca still held the briefcase and the large bag she had with her, near to her.  
"We're good?" the assistant director of the NCIS wanted to know.

She glanced at him and shrugged as an answer.

Granger heaved a long sigh. Sure, he knew she was rather stubborn. If she didn't want to share her thoughts, it would be useless prodding. "The others will be waiting for us at the office."  
Rebecca did not respond.

"If you're not sure about it, I could drop you off first," Granger said.

There was a short huff, then she said "Drop me off where?"

This time, it was his turn to stay quiet. He kept driving, expecting her to start talking if she felt the right moment was there. Which was soon.

"The guy gave me the creeps. I… well, I did not expect that. He knew all those details. Like the missing finger." She lifted her arm as if to look at it for a second herself. "I mean… this happened when, 11 years ago?"

Granger nodded. "Way back in Bosnia. Callen told me, and I noticed when I was there to get you out of the country and out of sight. Crap, Becca, it all was bad, very bad back then."

She bit the inside of her cheeks, remembering those dark period of being betrayed and tortured*  
"This felt just as bad. Like Janvier was working his way straight into my soul, wanting to haunt—" she did not finish her sentence. "He made me sick. Literally."

Granger's silver Cadillac pulled over at the large parking of the supermarket which was situated immediately behind the office. He looked around, took his bag and Rebecca's small briefcase. She automatically held her own bag and followed the other man as they walked the small alley between the derelict building and the newly built office building next to it.  
Granger was the one in lead and the one who opened the heavy, high wooden door.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

There was some chattering further away in the building. Both of them passed the bullpen and Granger simply dropped his bag and put the briefcase on the desk that he shared with Hetty. Then he motioned to the younger woman to follow him.  
Sure, she'd been here before, which was rather special for someone who never worked in the agency. There were two large couches in the back, with a few rattan chairs and a small coffee table.  
The voices stopped as the team watched the two people coming towards them.  
The first one who spoke was Deeks "That was a hellova job you did in there," he said, addressing Rebecca.  
Immediately after, it seemed as if everyone spoke.

"It was worth that trip to France the three of you had. Callen made us think you were going for the Paris Disneyland and the Eiffel Tower," Kensi said.

It caused a faint smile on Rebecca's face. "We were there as well. It's a great city," she said.

Eric said "It was fun watching you when you were fooling him. He really didn't know. We taped it. All of the moments you were with Janvier."

Nell giggled and commented on what her partner said "One moment you're proud of keeping all lines save, while some weeks ago you were pretty happy of killing all lines in a specific area."

"Well, that was a good move, wasn't it? After all, it prevented the car from being blown—" he stopped his enthusiastic talk, mumbled a hardly audible sorry and looked away.

Hetty pursed her lips, noticing how embarrassed the young tech felt. "We've learned from the past, Mr. Beale. Both you and miss Jones remembered the different modus operandi of Marcel Janvier and foresaw which action might be necessary. Indeed, it all worked well."

So far Rebecca just stood there, feeling some protection from Owen Granger who stood close behind her.

Then Sam remarked "it was so convincing, the way you repeated those words Janvier used himself."

She swallowed some times, bit her lower lip and softly replied "Never. It was an empty threat, didn't you see? You don't think I could ever hurt an innocent girl, simply to get to somebody else? Never for the sake of hurting the one who cares!" She looked away, her eyes clouded and her chin started quivering.  
Rebecca quickly turned away from the others. She didn't want to look weak like she just did, but there was no way to stop her tears as suddenly the pain from the past months hurt more than before.  
She'd been in this headquarters before, when Granger put all rules aside and drove her straight to this place. The coffee-corner was closest and least obvious as a way to avoid any stares or words from the others.

Callen had been quiet so far when his team had been so passionate about how they handled Janvier's associates and the man himself. His trained eyes noticed her pain and he got on his feet fast.  
"Reb.. Becca."  
It was her stance, suddenly so vulnerable. He pulled her close, not caring if his co-workers would notice or not. "That bad?" he asked in a soft voice.  
He felt the silent sobs which moved through her body until finally she heaved a deep sigh. Callen lead her away a bit further and as they reached his desk, he positioned her leaning on it while he stood, his clear blue eyes worried. "Wanna share?"

She shrugged slowly and breathed in slowly. "It's—this Janvier. Why, Callen, why? You never told me about him until you found that letter on your desk. He took it all. Destroyed my home, killed a friend, made me lose my past, my home, my—our future family. And then you all thought I'd… I can't, Geca. I can't do this. And he knows."

"He knows what?" Callen asked.

Her dark eyes locked with his clear blue's. "Janvier. He knows I won't ever be the one to hurt his daughter."

Callen pulled her closer and hugged her. "He knows we'll have your back. He knows you were and will be able to face him, to keep your cool. He won't threaten you anymore, Reb. What we saw was a defeated man."

She was quiet for a second or so, then said "For the time being. What if—"

Rebecca felt the 'humm' Callen uttered. It felt warm, good, comforting. There was the slow shaking of his head. He then said "Owen made sure he's not to contact any other inmates anymore. And incoming or outgoing mail will be checked."

She shuddered and asked "But how many more Janviers will be around, Callen? How many crossed your path, crossed mine, or will be around in the future?"

Both of them paused for a while and ignored all the chit-chats of the others, until a discreet cough sounded close behind them and Hetty said, obviously having overheard Rebecca's last words, "Far too many, dear girl. It's about time the two of you discuss this at home."

Rebecca nearly pushed Callen away and spoke in a huff "Home? Which home it is this time?"

There was a warm smile on the older woman's face when she held up a bag which she put down next to Callen's go-bag. "Two files. One with a resume of all possible enemies whom Mr. Callen met, the other one with yours. I suggest you share those. Since this may take some time, there's this too."  
She handed Callen a set of two keys. "The Lady H. is yours for the next two weeks. And for you, young lady, there's a former safe-house in the main street of Avalon, Catalina. I'd say it is a perfect family home and a great get-away for a writer. A three bedroom apartment, ocean view. NCIS rented it for the past couple of years and will do so for the next."  
Hetty then patted Rebecca on her arm, let her gaze go over the young woman and finally looked her deep in the eyes. It made her smile softly again. Then Hetty took a picture from the bag. It was of a pale green building in which a dry-cleaner had their shop and business on the street level. "It's the top floor. I heard the island has great schools. See if you could make the house into a home. If so, just let me know, will you?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Lady H., Pacific Ocean || early next morning**

"It's about an eight hour sailing trip," Rebecca mentioned as she skillfully steered the yacht from the Marina.

George stood next to his mother, a broad smile lightening his face. "Just like in the old days," he sighed. He looked around, eager to be on the water again. "Can we live on this yacht, mom?"

She shook her head but it was Callen who answered. "Nope. The boat doesn't belong to us, we can only use it for some weeks."

"Too bad," George said, chewing over what he also wanted to say. "It's not a boat, dad. It's a yacht. And it was great living on one, don't you think mom?"

Rebecca slowly nodded, breathing in some of the fresh ocean breeze. She then hummed as a confirmation.

The boy continued. "You wouldn't know dad. Perhaps you'd be puking all the time. You might get seasick, you know. Even the toughest persons do—"  
George didn't finish his sentence as he saw his mother grow pale.

If it hadn't been for George's stare, Callen wouldn't have noticed. "Reb?" Callen asked, worried now. "You okay?"

She didn't answer but pushed a button next to the steering wheel, then hurried to the stern, bent over the rail and emptied her stomach. For a minute, she was afraid to move and slowly breathed in again.

It was George who started to chuckle. "That's funny. Ocean winds, you always loved those. Guess you've grown into a landlubber, mom."

Callen was quiet for a second until a small smirk appeared on his face. "Well, you sure aint a landlubber yourself. Perhaps you could show us your steering skills, young man."  
He was no expert himself, but he knew that much about sailing that Rebecca had put some kind of cruise control which would be okay for some time. Callen turned to see how Rebecca was doing, but she faced the other way. Again, a half smile showed on his face. So far for seasickness.  
He hadn't expected this to happen so soon, but heck, did he recognize this. "Fair wind, George, fair wind."

Callen moved to where the love of his life sat, quietly and still. Without words, he rubbed her back until Rebecca leaned back, the back of her head resting against Callen's strong shoulder. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" he said in a soft voice. "Eight hours on the waves may be a long time, love."  
She never noticed the broad smile on his face as she responded "I suppose eight months is a long time as well…"

* * *

Last night while you were  
Lying in my arms  
And I was wondering where you were  
You know you looked just like a baby  
Fast asleep in this dangerous world.  
Every star was shining brightly  
Just like a million years before.  
And we were feeling very small  
Underneath the universe.  
And you know that I'm gonna be the one  
Who'll be there when you need  
Someone to depend upon  
When tomorrow comes

[Eurythmics]

* * *

 _this was the final chapter of this storyline. Thank you all for reading. I'd be grateful if you'd let me know your thoughts about this chapter and the story as a whole._

Kni®benrots


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